


Make Me a Slave

by Pastellorama



Series: Broken Circles, Mended Hearts [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Experimentation, Fear, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mage Rights, Mages, PTSD, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tranquility, constant interruptions, mage circles suck alright?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastellorama/pseuds/Pastellorama
Summary: Even with the fall of the circles, Thedas is no place for a mage. While at the head of the Inquisition, Aldred fears the world he must save and the future it may hold for him when all is said and done.





	1. No Place for a Mage

It felt like all of Ferelden was a dismal rain drenched bog or snow covered field, and Orlais no better as a dry wasteland where cracks on plague ridden lips were as common as cracked mud. It was for this reason that Aldred could think of no better place to be than Skyhold.

Sure, Skyhold was chilly and every morning brought a fresh layer of frost, but the sun was always brilliant and ready to warm whatsoever its rays touched. Aldred loved to be caressed by the sunbeams, and often stood out on the balcony of his quarters with his face lifted towards the sky just to feel its warmth.

There was another reason to be on the balcony as often as possible—it was one of the few places where he could not be seen, and therefor could not be disturbed. It faced away from the rest of Skyhold, providing a splendid view of the mountains as far as the eye could see. With the Breach in the sky closed, it was much easier to look upon the land and pretend that everything was fine... but, it wasn't.

If everything was fine, there wouldn't be a Skyhold, and he wouldn't have to be here. Aldred would be back in the Circle of Ostwick, or at war supporting the Mage Rebellion. Still, as the head of the Inquisition, Aldred could do his best to support the mages. He'd already freed them from slavery to the Venatori cult, after Grand Enchanter Fiona had mistakenly sold them to its cause.

“What's that scowl on your face about? I hope it has nothing to do with what we did last night....”

Aldred glanced behind him to look at the man who still lay in his bed; Dorian, a Tevinter mage who couldn't help but saturate every word with sass.

Turning away from the mountain view, Aldred leaned back against the balcony and met Dorian's gaze. “Of course not,” he said, forcing a small smile onto his lips. It was hard to be happy, let alone appear it, when everyone was counting on him to save the world. Harder still, when Aldred realized he did not quite recall everything from the night prior.

“You're fretting again. Like always. I see you, running here and there through Skyhold. You're tiring to watch...” Dorian commented as he shifted and rearranged the bed pillows so that he might recline against them. “What's on your mind?”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Aldred answered. “She... I don't know... she was such a hero to me when I was a lad. When I met her... I guess I expected _more_.”

Dorian gave a sharp laugh. “More? From an Orlesian Mage?” 

“Sure. I mean, why not? I come from the Free Marches. It's... it's not as grand,” Aldred admitted.

“'Not as grand', he says... nothing grand about a land of people who pride themselves on being descendant from barbarians,” Dorian scoffed. Aldred's face darkened in response, and Dorian sighed and patted the covers beside him. “Come, come.”

Aldred moved towards the room, hesitating in the doorway and remaining half on the balcony and half in the room. “Warrior people, they would correct you,” Aldred said. “But, you're right... they are _barbaric_. Even with six Circles, the Free Marches is no place for any sort of mage.”

“Your Circles are no place for any mage either,” Dorian remarked, this time ignoring the look of disapproval Aldred shot him.


	2. Hard Biscuits and Hard Topics

“What was it like? In the Circle of Ostwick?”

Aldred had been sitting on a crude bench in their campsite, gnawing on a biscuit that might as well have been a rock for how little nutritional value it had and how hard it was. When Dorian had come to sit beside him, he barely met the eye of the man, though he did scoot over enough for Dorian to fully occupy the remaining space on the bench.

“Nothing like in Tevinter, I'm sure,” he answered. 

Dorian scoffed. “Nothing here is like in Tevinter; and I'm glad of it!” When Aldred said nothing, Dorian began tapping his fingers on the bench, his eyes wandering towards the tents of their campsite. Their staves were over there, crossed over each other and leaning against a tent. “You're very hard to talk to,” Dorian remarked.

“We talk all the time,” Aldred disagreed, attempting to use his shin guard to cut the biscuit as he spoke. It wasn't working, and he finally gave up and chucked the biscuit away from their campsite for some scavenger to enjoy. _If they could even bite it_. 

“No we don't. I talk, and you listen,” Dorian corrected. 

“I don't have a lot to say.”

“How is that possible? If _I_ were the Herald of Andraste, and everyone thought my words were holy, I'd have plenty to say. I'd fart nonsense all day, just because they would listen and believe it lest they be thought of as unfaithful!”

Aldred smirked a little. “You already _do_ fart nonsense all day,” he teased.

“Of course. But, I'd do it more if I was the Herald!”

“Well, you're _not_ the Herald. And neither am I,” Aldred said firmly. He had been saying that ever since he'd first temporarily sealed the Breach. Now, with it fully closed, the belief that he was somehow blessed by Andraste had solidified in the minds of the people of Thedas.

“I do find it amusing that a Trevelyan like yourself is so... well, you don't really _believe_ in Andraste or the Chantry, do you?” 

Aldred's turned his hands upwards so that he might look at his palms. “Perhaps I would've, had I not been a mage. Mages aren't exactly welcome as members of the Chantry... nor are we meant to be anything but the opposite of a Templar.”

“Ah. Of course. I suppose you being a mage was rather a disappointment to your family.”

Aldred shrugged. “I never knew them. If I somehow let them down by being this way... well, they are but a few of many strangers I might disappoint.” Aldred had bigger concerns than a handful of relatives he had not seen in twenty-four years. Now, the entire world was counting on him—he could let down his family, but he could not fail the entire world.

“You were very young when you came into your magic,” Dorian stated. It wasn't a lucky guess. In Thedas, it was typical for any young mage to be taken from their home and admitted to a Circle as soon as they cast their first spell, and sometimes that meant they were _very_ young.

“Younger than most,” Aldred confirmed, rising from the bench and stalking towards their staves. They couldn't just sit in camp all day—the people of the Hinterlands needed them.


	3. Before or After

Dorian slipped into their tent late at night, long after Aldred had settled in. 

They'd given Blackwall his own tent, neither mage feeling quite comfortable with the man. He was nice enough, and wonderful at protecting them, but there was just something strange about him. Talking to him was like talking to a statue come to life—full of information and history, but still eerily inhuman. Then there was Cole.... did demons like Cole even need to sleep? If he did, he apparently did not need a tent to do it. 

“Aldred...” Dorian hissed. “Aldred, I know you're not asleep. I can hear you thinking.”

Aldred rolled over slightly to peer at Dorian in the dark. “Where have you been?”

“Does it matter?” Dorian asked, his fingers nimbly undoing the belts and buckles of his attire as he undressed. “Oh fine. If you must know, I was enjoying a dip in the lake. _Naked_.”

Aldred could find no lie in his words—as Dorian lay down beside him, Aldred reached out to touch him and felt his damp skin. His fingers moved upwards to touch Dorian's dark locks, still wet from his swim. Dorian grabbed Aldred's hand, pulling it to his lips to gently kiss each knuckle. “Mage hands... always so soft...” he murmured.

Aldred chuckled. “Don't let your guard down.”

“Oh, I know... we mages have quite the grip, don't we? I know you do....”

Aldred reddened a little at Dorian's words, recalling the night they had spent together. They hadn't really discussed what had happened, but the flirting had continued. This was the first night they had traveled outside of Skyhold since then as well. He'd shared a tent with Dorian before, but now... it was different.

Aldred pulled his hand out of Dorian's grasp and shifted away, suddenly wary of the playful and alluring man. 

“I wish you'd stop being so cryptic...” Dorian huffed. “You've barely spoken to me since... well, you recall... and then you bring me out here, _knowing_ we will most certainly share a tent. I'm just... I'm a little bit confused! Have I done something wrong?”

At the question, Aldred sat up. “No!” he blurted out a little more hastily than he meant to. 

“Then why won't you talk to me!?” Dorian demanded. 

Aldred winced, his hands moving to clutch his head between them as he groaned. They were going to catch the attention of the camp scouts if they carried on being this loud. “I already told you; I don't have a lot to say. It's not... it's... all of it's bad. Just endlessly bad. I don't want to discuss _before_.”

“Before?” Dorian queried, propping himself up on his elbow to stare at Aldred intensely. Even in the dark, Aldred could feel his insistent gaze upon him. “Before what? The Conclave? The Breach?”

“No... before _you_ ,” Aldred corrected. “I don't want to talk or even think about anything before you... but, I have no choice. I have to remember it all. You don't, so I'll spare you from it—it's my burden to bear.”

Dorian was silent for only a moment before his hands reached for Aldred, pulling them away from his head and forcing Aldred to look at him. This close, it didn't matter that there was no light. Aldred could see Dorian's face perfectly—the thinly pursed lips and firmly set brow indicating both concern and frustration at Aldred's words.

Aldred exhaled and looked away. “This is why I don't want to talk about it—if that's the face I get for speaking, I don't want to speak.”

“Well, what about _after_ then?” Dorian asked.

“After?” Aldred echoed. “After what?”

“After me. After I came wandering into your Inquisition. After all the rumors about us. After I wandered into your chambers to make those rumors true... what about after?”

Dorian had already tried once to discuss the future with Aldred. Aldred had been quiet, afraid to give any certain answers. He still felt uncertain and unwilling to say anything he might regret. “I...” he started.

“There doesn't have to be an after... you know. We could just leave things as they are. Just some fun here and there, until this saving the world business is all finished up and we go our separate ways. I'd... I'd understand. It's not so different from how it is back home, in Tevinter,” Dorian rambled.

Aldred's mood shifted abruptly from being upset to being mad, his hands pushing Dorian away roughly. “Is that what you think I want!?” he snapped. As if reflecting his anger, the mark on his hand, the “Anchor” as Corypheus had called it, flared brilliantly green. Aldred clutched his hand and tried to suppress a gasp of pain. It stung, as it always did when his emotions became too violent. 

Dorian reached towards him, but hesitated in fear of being pushed away again. He waited, watching Aldred struggle to calm himself so that the pain of the mark might cease. “I don't know what you want,” Dorian remarked bitterly, “You won't tell me.”

“Oh for crying out loud, Dorian! I don't want to lose you! Isn't that obvious!?” The glow of the anchor cast eerie shadows in the tent, the light reflecting brightly in Dorian's otherwise dark eyes. 

“... Oh.”

“I'm afraid. What if I fail? Letting down the entire world? That's bad.... Letting down you, though? That's _worse_ ,” Aldred confessed with a long sigh. He grunted in surprise as Dorian suddenly tackled him, his lips pressing against Aldred's in a rough and desperate way.

“Don't let me down, then,” Dorian said, at last his familiar impish smile returning to his lips as he spoke. Aldred tensed as he felt Dorian's hand groping lower, the Anchor flashing in response.

“Dorian! Stop!” he begged. “The Anchor! Everyone will see!”

Dorian laughed as he considered this fact, their forms no doubt illuminated within the tent like shadow puppets by this point. “Fine, fine, but... when we get back to Skyhold...?”

“Skyhold,” Aldred promised.


	4. Just Pleasure

They didn't spend much time in the Hinterlands, a courier summoning Aldred back to Skyhold within a day of their being at the Upper Lake camp. The rest of the week was a whirlwind of events, Aldred spending the majority of his time hovering over the war table and discussing his options with his advisers. There were the repairs to Skyhold, the rifts scattered all over the land, at least three dragons ravaging the countryside... and, of course, the ever present threat of Corypheus.

If he wasn't at the war table, Aldred was checking on the people of the Inquisition, ensuring their needs were being met and gathering as much information as possible. It was strange to him, to be such a figure of power and, somehow, have so many people living with Skyhold who still did not know his face. Aldred almost preferred it that way. If it weren't for Cassandra announcing him as “The Herald of Andraste” everywhere they went, he was certain there would be even fewer people who recognized him.

Between the war table and the people, Aldred barely had any time to himself. He wasn't even sure if he'd eaten today, and he hadn't slept more than thirty minutes at a time since getting back. But, the work had to end at some point. The exhaustion was getting to him, and by the time the sun was touching the western mountains, Aldred had at last managed to excuse himself to his chambers.

He'd only just collapsed onto his bed when the sound of boots climbing the stairs of his room greeted his ears. 

Aldred didn't even look in the direction of the stairs, his eyes focusing on the vaulted ceilings instead. “Cassandra... whatever it is, it can wait. I need to sleep,” Aldred said firmly.

“Cassandra? Do I really have such a heavy step?”

Aldred sighed. Dorian. He'd forgotten entirely about Dorian all week.

Dorian evidently knew this, as he strode across the room and looked about. He possessed an air of confidence, his expression expectant as he turned towards Aldred. “Tired, are we?”

“Endlessly,” Aldred admitted. He gestured for Dorian to come to him, not wishing to further offend the man—it was so easy to do so, it was a wonder he hadn't drove him away already.

Dorian obliged him, approaching and staring down at Aldred. “Heavens, you _must_ be tired. You've got your boots on in bed,” he commented. 

Aldred shrugged. “Easier to keep spiders out if I keep my feet in,” he replied in jest, though it was true Aldred did take more preventive measures than others to ensure his boots were spider free. More than once, he'd been seen stuffing his clothing into his boots to ensure they stayed spider-less while camping.

“You do seem awfully wary of spiders... but, never the giant ones. Why is that?” Dorian asked, his knee compressing the mattress beneath it as he crawled onto the bed and looked down at Aldred.

“I can see the big ones. The little ones are always hiding... why? What are they plotting?” Aldred rolled over to face Dorian. His fingers traced over the fastenings of Dorian's clothing, but he left them alone and did not attempt to undo them. He was too tired to undress himself, let alone another person. “Sleep with me?”

“I know you don't mean that how I wish you meant it,” Dorian replied. 

Aldred protested when Dorian's hands began to remove his clothing for him. “Dorian, no... I'm going to sleep.” 

“Of course you are, but not _well_. Not like that. I'm just helping,” Dorian assured him. Aldred sighed, moving as minimally as possible to assist Dorian and sleepily watching Dorian strip as well. Dorian didn't stay beside him, rising from the bed and wandering over towards Aldred's wardrobe to retrieve a small jeweled vial. When had Dorian hidden it there?

“What's that?” Aldred asked as Dorian uncapped it, a thick perfume of Elfroot and Crystal Grace filling the air.

“Nothing dangerous, if that's what you're worried about,” Dorian quipped. He gestured for Aldred to roll over, Aldred wearily doing so while Dorian clambered back onto the bed and knelt over him. He shuddered at the feeling of the vial's contents being admitted to his backside, the mixture becoming warm and making his flesh tingle wherever it touched.

Dorian closed the vial, setting it aside before pressing his fingers into Aldred's back and rubbing the concoction into his skin. Aldred groaned—it felt quite nice. He'd never been pampered like this in the Circle of Ostwick. But, then again, relationships had been discouraged. He recalled watching two lovers be separated, one remaining in the Circle of Ostwick and the other being sent to the Circle of Kirkwall. It had been heartbreaking.

“Dorian...?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know what love is?” 

Dorian let out a bark of a laugh before snorting in derision. “What an odd question!” he remarked, his fingers still kneading into the tired muscles of Aldred's backside as he spoke. “I've told you before,” he said after some time, “a relationship like ours? Just pleasure where I come from, nothing more.”

“Well, what if it _was_ more?” Aldred persisted.

“You'd have a hard time convincing anyone of that, and, after a while, an even harder time convincing yourself...” Dorian said dolefully. “Why do you bring it up?”

“The Circles here... in Tevinter, your mages are permitted to lust and to love. Perhaps your love may be unacknowledged in the eyes of others... but, you can still pursue it,” Aldred said, his words becoming muffled as he relaxed further against his bedding under the influence of Dorian's hands and the Elfroot and Crystal Grace concoction.

If Dorian had anything to say in reply, Aldred didn't hear it. He had finally drifted off into unconscious bliss, where he dreamed of nothing. Peaceful... empty... nothing.


	5. Messenger

No one had seen the demon come or go, or at least no remembered having seen him, save for Aldred himself. And, if it weren't for the bottle of unidentified alcohol in Aldred's hands, even he might not have recalled Cole's visit to his chambers. Aldred was grateful, if not a bit embarrassed that Cole felt alcohol would be the best way to “help” him currently.

Aldred hadn't pressed for any reasoning. Knowing Cole, he likely would've been given some round about logic regarding it. Aldred set the bottle on his desk and went to the balcony, his eyes searching the sky. He'd had a dream, a very bad one. He'd woken up abruptly, after dreaming of being back in Haven with the sky still torn open.  
Haven....

Aldred couldn't remember how he'd gotten to his chambers. He had gone to speak to Solas, but now he couldn't even remember _why_ he'd done that. Shaking his head, Aldred went back inside. It _all_ felt like a bad dream, one he would never wake up from.

With each day, he gained more power, more influence, in Thedas. Every decision boosted him further up the ranks, and he recalled grimly how four times now he had been forced upon a throne to determine the fate of others. Who was he to have such power? Who was he to make these decisions?

A Trevelyan? Certainly someone with a claim to power. But, a Trevelyan _mage_? Absolutely not. It was unheard of. And yet, here he was, with his throne and his fortress and his devout followers. 

Aldred found himself uncorking the bottle Cole had brought him, a pungent fruity scent assaulting his nose when he did. Cole must've known that alcohol had not been something freely given to the mages in Ostwick, to have brought him something that almost tasted nothing like alcohol at all. Aldred carried it outside onto the balcony with him, holding it but still not raising it to his lips. Would Cole poison him? No... Cole only did things to help others—murdering Aldred would be the opposite of helping. 

Aldred placed the bottle on the railing of the balcony and released a sharp breath. What would happen to him once Corypheus was no longer a threat? Surely they wouldn't dare to reinstate the mage Circles after the Inquisition had been so openly against them? And, what of him? He wouldn't go back... not quietly. 

“Amatus...” 

Aldred froze, his thoughts interrupted by the softly spoken word. “Dorian....” Aldred groaned and rubbed his jaw, annoyed with himself. How many times was he going to forget about and neglect the man?

“Oh, good, you still remember my name!” Dorian sassed. “I'm amazed, considering you've been locking yourself in for almost a week straight. I almost got my hopes up when I saw you come into the Atrium, but then you left with Solas... what was that about?”

“I honestly can't recall,” Aldred confessed. “I woke up in bed, like I never left.”

“That's odd... know what else is odd? The head of the Inquisition hiding from his people.”

“Dorian, please don't scold me,” Aldred started.

“Fine. I didn't come up here for that anyways.”

“Why did you come, then?”

“It's regarding the House Trevelyan, and your distant relatives need to throw your name around. Your advisers approached me, wanting to know your plans. I said I didn't know anything of it, and they sent me up here. They must assume that somehow _I_ can get answers from you.”

“Oh really? And did you have a plan for that?” Aldred asked.

“Of course not. Their faith in me is unwarranted; I'm merely taking advantage of a chance to see you.” Dorian gave him a tight lipped smile, and Aldred felt a pang of guilt. Again, he wondered how he had not driven off the man with his standoffish behavior and constant absence.

“Come... I have what I _think_ is wine... but, I could be wrong,” Aldred offered, inviting Dorian to join him on the balcony. “I apologize, as I have no glasses...”

“Ooh, something from the Herald's private mystery reserve,” Dorian teased, accepting the offer and stepping onto the balcony with Aldred.

Aldred offered the bottle to Dorian, allowing him the first drink and watching him smack his lips as he pondered the taste.

“My dear, I think that may be brandy... and a very strong one at that. Awfully sweet,” Dorian said after a moment. “Could be dangerous....”

Aldred took the bottle from him, raising it to his lips and taking a drink. It was almost as fruity as it smelled. Aldred could see how it would be dangerous—it was so sweet, it would be hard to notice how much of an impact it was having until it was too late.

“I'll tell you what is dangerous...” Aldred began, taking another swig and passing the bottle back to Dorian. “Asking me to be involved in family matters. I know I have relatives, but I was never privy to the relations part of it... I was busy.”

“Ah yes, _busy_...” Dorian repeated with a tone of annoyance. “Locked away, choosing between being bullied into proving your stability, or forced into dreamlike stupidity.”

“It could've been worse... it was Ostwick... it could've been Kirkwall.” Aldred wasn't sure if he'd ever said that out loud before, but it had become a phrase that droned in his head at night, when he remembered the Circle. That life seemed so far away and distant now....

“The only reason it wasn't was because of your nobility,” Dorian pointed out, returning the bottle to Aldred once more. “The Chantry has to save face somewhere. Ensure the _important_ people unfortunate enough to be mages are treated 'well', right?”

Dorian knew exactly the right things to say to push Aldred's buttons, and Aldred stared at the bottle in his hands. It was beginning to become lighter with each change of hands. “Dorian... I don't want to talk about that anymore. I think I've made my feelings towards the Circle of Magi quite clear.”

“No,” Dorian objected, “I really don't think you have. Perhaps you've made them clear politically, but not emotionally. I've told you my story, allowed you to know my past and let you see my grief. But, you! You remain distant, cut off and impersonal! Who are you? Aldred of the House Trevelyan, mage of the Circle of Ostwick, Herald of Andraste and head of the Inquisition! But, _who_ are _you_!?”

“Nobody!” Aldred snapped in response, hating that Dorian could rile him so quickly. “I'm _nobody_! Don't you understand that!? I have no business here! I can't keep up this charade, pretending to be of importance! And, when this is all over, that's who I'll be again—nobody. I _hated_ the Circle. I loathe it still! And yet, being outside of that fortress? Being _free_? I am entirely, utterly _lost_. They have made me useless, a dredge on society... I am not fit to be here. Somehow, I think I should be _there_....”

Dorian was silent, and Aldred took advantage of the quiet to drink some more of the brandy and let its taste truly settle on his tongue. 

“I... I'm sorry, Dorian. I just feel so inhuman alongside you and the others. You all speak so freely, and make clear your feelings. I... no one cared about what I was feeling before. You learn to suffer in silence. And, now, with everyone depending on me... well, I don't want them to think I'm weak... I don't want to falter, and let my emotions get the best of me,” Aldred said, allowing Dorian to have the bottle again.

“You can't be serious all the time,” Dorian said sternly. “You'll break under the stress....”

“I know. I'm not like Cassandra or Cullen. They were trained for this. I was, of course, trained in combat, but...” Aldred scoffed and withdrew from the balcony, moving into his chambers and pacing the area. 'Trained in combat'—a ridiculous way to say 'trained to die for someone else's cause'. 

“Cassandra and Cullen have their own weaknesses.” Dorian followed him inside, his fingers tapping against the glass of the bottle as he moved. “For instance, they are loud, bossy, and stubborn.”

Aldred frowned and looked at Dorian. “Are you saying you're not all three of those things?”

“Of course not—I am saying that those are not _my_ weaknesses, however,” Dorian answered. “Ah... there it is, I knew that goofy smile of yours would eventually appear.”

Aldred rolled his eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about....”

“Oh you do too. It's the same stupid smile you get when Sera is mean to me, and when Cullen hears something even slightly risque and gets all flustered. Or, better yet, the smile you wear whenever you _know_ you've said something I like,” Dorian insisted, Aldred flushing a little and turning away.

Dorian set the brandy bottle down, his hand reaching to grab Aldred's shoulder and force him to turn around again. “Don't. Don't hide that emotion from me....”

Aldred exhaled, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Are the others not waiting on you?”

“Maybe, but, as I said, I didn't come here for them. Not really.”

Dorian's face was startlingly close to Aldred's, and Aldred found that he did not really mind. He wanted Dorian to be this close. He wished he was personally less of a coward, so that they might be this close more often. Perhaps even in public.

“Well, if they _are_ waiting, you better give them an answer. Tell them to choose whatever is most diplomatic. That always works well enough,” Aldred informed Dorian.

“They can find that out from you later. I don't just climb stairs to deliver messages.”

Aldred laughed. “Of course not. I'd better go tell them...” Aldred was unable to get any further, Dorian's hands latching onto his and preventing him from leaving.

“I said _later_ ,” Dorian asserted.

“I was only teasing,” Aldred promised.

“Well you're insane if you think I'm going to keep letting you wander off to forget me,” Dorian huffed. His breath smelled of the brandy they'd been drinking. Aldred wondered if Dorian was beginning to feel its affects as he was. It was good they had quit before they had gone too far—Cole was mad if he thought consuming that entire bottle alone would be good for Aldred.

“Perhaps I should add 'see Dorian' to the list of things Josephine tells me every day,” Aldred suggested.

“You'd better do more than just 'see' me.” Dorian had released Aldred's hands, now using his fingers to undo the buttons of Aldred's coat and the buckle of his belt. “You could tell her to remind you to 'bite Dorian's ear, he likes that'. It would make her delightfully uncomfortable.”

Aldred was about to respond when a crow suddenly flew in through the open balcony doors. It apparently had no care for the open bottle of brandy on Aldred's desk, its large wingspan tipping the bottle onto the floor where it shattered and poured itself into the cracks of the stone.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Aldred caught himself before he could swear, though he desperately wanted to. He recognized the bird as one of Leliana's, which only added to his aggravation—were they really so impatient!? The bird croaked at Aldred expectantly, and Dorian released him.

“It has a note...” Dorian commented. He sounded somewhat peeved by the interruption, a feeling Aldred shared. Aldred shrugged and grasped Dorian's hands, guiding them back to where Dorian had left off undressing him. “Aren't you going to read it?” Dorian queried.

“No,” Aldred replied curtly. 

“Well... how about send it away? It's... watching us.”

Aldred, groaning, turned away from Dorian to try and shoo the bird from the room. It did not work, the crow only cawing each time Aldred waved at it and jumping around on his desk. It knocked over an inkwell, a candle, and a small hourglass before the flapping of its wings caused several loose papers to drift off the desk. They fell into the spilled wine and became red and saturated.

Dorian was laughing behind him. “Mighty Herald of Andraste, sealer of rifts, vanquisher of demons, champion of mages, maker of miracles... fool to crows,” Dorian snickered. 

“Were it not Leliana's, it would be in the fireplace by now. On a spit,” Aldred muttered. 

“I guess, amatus, that there is no help for it. Your advisers need you... and, should you need me, you know where to find me,” Dorian sighed.

Aldred made a noise of disgust and gave up on ridding himself of the bird. He would just go down and confront his advisers directly—then, perhaps, they would let him have some time to himself to do more than just sleep! Striding towards Dorian, Aldred yanked him close and kissed him. _Hard_. 

“Of course, Dorian... in my bed. Tonight,” Aldred said firmly, Dorian looking a little taken aback by Aldred's sudden roughness. Aldred playfully saluted him, his hands moving to adjust his clothing as he made for the stairs.

“Is _that_ what they mean by barbaric in the Free Marches?” Dorian called after him. “Because, I might be alright with it after all!” Aldred smirked as he left.


	6. A Marvelous Puppet

If anyone had noticed Aldred's slight drunkenness in the war room, they had not commented upon it. Aldred was entirely sober by the time they had finished, it had taken so long. A man named Fairbanks had been milling about Skyhold for several days, awaiting their decision on an alliance. Though Aldred felt guilty for it, he'd allowed Josephine to proceed with a plan to make Fairbanks out to be some romantic hero of forgotten nobility. They'd now have women of notable wealth eating out of his hand, but still... Aldred couldn't help but feel bad when he knew Fairbanks was not fond of his true title.

There had been much more discussed, and even more left undiscussed, when a small explosion had gone off in the garden. Had Aldred not spotted Cole when the others had not, his slim frame relaxing against a wall not far from where all the commotion was ongoing, Aldred might've hurried over to observe the chaos himself.

Aldred confronted the demon who was so oddly human in appearance, only for Cole to smile at him.

“You needed time to finish your _brandy_ ,” Cole said, his expression unnervingly knowing as he'd looked at Aldred. 

Aldred only nodded in reply, leaving the others to deal with Cole's distraction while he snuck away back to his chambers. Though the many steps were often daunting, Aldred welcomed the time he had to think before he reached his room. Maker knew he'd not had much of that as of late. 

Specifically, his mind dwelled on Dorian and what he might expect from Aldred. The same as last time? Something more? Aldred was not sure he could give him either. The truth was, Aldred had not really been there the first time....

Of course, he'd _been_ there, but it hadn't felt like him. He'd been the Inquisitor, just doing what he had to for one more person. Being there the way Dorian had needed him, after the disaster of what could hardly be called a “family reunion”. Aldred almost couldn't remember it—he saw glimpses of what had occurred, fingers gripping, skin exposed, chests heaving... but what had he felt? 

He'd felt... closed. Distant. He could've been experiencing a dream in the Fade, for all it seemed unreal now. 

Aldred had to stop, had to lean against the wall and breathe. Another flight, and he'd just about be there. How could he admit any of this to Dorian? That he was a fraud? How did Dorian not know as it were? Couldn't he tell... hadn't he noticed Aldred's fumblings? Aldred had just been going through the motions... following guidance given only by Dorian's voiced appreciations. It was a wonder he hadn't somehow hurt the man.

And, now, Aldred knew it wouldn't go that way again. He wasn't in the right state of mind—he couldn't just _be_ what Dorian needed him to be this time. How often it seemed things worked that way, by pure luck, or sheer willpower. Aldred willed himself to meet a demand, even as it seemed impossible, and then... it was met. He'd done it. Again and again and again, never actually in control of what he was doing.

Aldred's gloved fist pounded against the wall, attempting to summon some sort of power to be who or what he was needed to be. Nothing came, and Aldred blew out an ashamed breath and ascended the next step, then the next. He'd left Dorian in his room. Promised him he'd return. He couldn't just turn away now, walk back downstairs and out of Skyhold forever. Leliana would find him, for one, and would be wrathful... but, Dorian would be worse... certainly. 

The truth would come out one way or another. It was better Aldred gave it to Dorian himself, rather than having it torn from him later. Aldred compared the idea of admitting his failures to Dorian in his comfortable room, seated together on his bed with a fire crackling nearby and their hands intertwined, then to the idea of Dorian finding him hiding in a cave somewhere and having no way to defend his actions. 

Yes... this would be better. Even if it came sooner than Aldred would've wanted.

“Dorian?” Aldred called softly as his feet found the final steps. Silence, and Aldred couldn't tell if his stomach dropped out of fear or relief. Had Dorian taken his leave, after waiting so long? The sun had been above Skyhold when he'd left, and now it was setting and turning the clouds into fire. 

Aldred stepped into his room, freezing when he saw Dorian still there. He was bent over Aldred's desk, eyes scanning over a book with an intense amount of focus. He almost looked as though he were in battle, his stance firm and his expression hard. The brandy had been cleaned up, along with the inkwell and alcohol soaked papers. The hourglass was in the wrong place, and the candle had snapped in half when it had fallen, but otherwise Dorian had quite nicely tidied up the mess Leliana's crow had made.

“Dorian,” Aldred repeated, this time Dorian looking up to meet his eye.

“I'd ask for one more page, just long enough to finish the good part... but, then I might miss out on getting to the good part with you. Again.” Dorian's lips contorted into a grin that almost seemed dangerous, and Aldred felt his throat ache a bit when he swallowed.

Dorian closed the book, not bothering to mark his place—he would remember it, even as Aldred wondered how—before circling round the desk to approach Aldred. Whatever focus remained from his reading, it was now turned on Aldred, and Aldred could almost feel it digging into him. He looked away, afraid Dorian would pry his truths out before he could even say anything with just a look.

“Dorian...” Aldred said as he felt hands on his chest, fingers sliding down eagerly to undo the buckle of his waist belt. Dorian's lips grazed along his cheek, passing over a hint of stubble as they moved down and along his jaw. “Dorian....” The belt dropped to the floor with a dull thud, Dorian now untying the ceremonial sash that wrapped round his waist and crossed over his chest. He caught Dorian's wrist, halting the man and his desired undressing. “Dorian.”

Dorian had gone rigid when Aldred had grabbed him, startled by the strength with which Aldred held him back and forced him to stop. Then, his posturing relaxed into something loose but wary—not fighting Aldred, but in no way submitting to Aldred's grip either. He pulled his arm free, dropping it to his side as he looked at Aldred for an explanation.

“I see,” Dorian spoke, before Aldred could even decide how best to talk to him. “I'll... take my leave. Perhaps another time, Inquisitor.”

Aldred couldn't stop himself, a hand moving to reestablish contact and grab Dorian again. He shouldn't have. He knew that. He shouldn't have pulled him back so forcefully, yanking him near like he was pulling a child out of the way of a runaway horse cart. Dorian lurched forward, falling against Aldred's chest with the force of the pull while Aldred's feet scuffed the ground behind him, trying to regain his balance but ultimately failing. 

Aldred was already apologizing even as he staggered backwards, unable to find sure footing before falling onto his ass. Dorian had no choice but to go down with him, Aldred's unrelenting hold on his arm preventing him from going anywhere else. Dorian was lucky enough to fall into Aldred's lap, rather than onto the unforgiving stone floor, but he did suffer the wound of banging his head into Aldred's.

There was a mutual hissing at the pain, both clutching their foreheads and attempting to blink away the throb and burn of the injury.

“What in the Divine do you think you are doing!?” Dorian asked incredulously, palm rubbing his injured head as he spoke. Aldred hoped it wouldn't bruise too much.

“I... I wanted to talk to you,” Aldred said, pressing his fingers against his own forehead. “Maker...” he muttered as he felt his head pound in response.

“Well, there are better ways of asking. Wine, for example,” Dorian snapped, but Aldred knew Dorian was already forgiving him. Dorian picked himself up and kindly offered Aldred help up, Aldred rubbing a hand over his sore rear as he rose. At least he had no need of riding a mount anytime soon....

“What did you want to talk about? Better yet, are you sure you know _how_ to use your words?” Dorian continued, chiding Aldred and putting enough distance between them that he could ensure he would not be dragged down again soon.

Aldred pursed his lips and wrung his hands together, understanding that he deserved the criticism. He'd repeatedly shown himself to be something of a poor conversationalist, and, now, here he was, trying to initiate a conversation and doing so miserably. He moved towards his bed, sitting down on its edge heavily and rubbing his jaw as he did.

“Maker, I don't know how to say this...” Aldred breathed into his hands. His gloves were still on, and he absently tugged at the tips of their fingers to remove them.

“If this is goodbye, then just say 'goodbye',” Dorian pressed.

“No!” Aldred responded quickly before shaking his head. “Andraste preserve me, if anyone was going to end this it would be you, not me, and you'd do it before I could even have my say.” Aldred couldn't help the hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. His hands had begun to sweat in his gloves, and now they were resisting removal.

Dorian watched him struggle before rolling his eyes and coming over to help Aldred pull the gloves off, right then left. As Aldred's left palm was exposed, the green of the Anchor revealed itself with a flash like an emerald catching light, and Aldred ducked his head at the distressed giveaway.

“Alright then, let's talk...” Dorian said, his eyes not straying from Aldred's palm until Aldred purposefully and childishly sat on his hands to hide them. It was a habit, from the Circle. Mage hands, a looming danger, an established threat to the world... best to control them when feeling emotional, best to hide away the weapon that was within him.

“What we did before... was... was an accident.”

Dorian's eyes narrowed. “Did you intend to say 'mistake'?”

“No,” Aldred replied, feeling at least certain of one thing. “I... I pictured this differently coming up here, with you sitting by me, maybe letting me hold your hand... a fire... I don't know why a fire, I feel much too hot as is....” He was forgetting the entire point of why he'd been thinking of it at all. The mattress compressed beside him as Dorian took a seat, one of his hands moving to rest on Aldred's thigh. With his hands compressed beneath his buttocks, Aldred supposed this was the best Dorian could manage.

“Better?” Dorian asked, his hand squeezing Aldred's thigh reassuringly as he spoke.

Aldred gave a quick nod and felt his cheeks grow warm as he thought about the things he meant to confess to Dorian. “I meant an accident, because I really had no idea what I was doing. And, I'm not sure it was right to pretend I did, and make you think I understood... those sorts of things.”

There was silence between them, and then Dorian's hand was gone from Aldred's thigh, moved to cover his mouth as he struggled to stifle something that desperately wanted to escape. He couldn't, and Aldred watched as Dorian choked out a strangled laugh and doubled over, his backside spasming as he silently lost himself to laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” Aldred asked sternly, but his face showed more embarrassment than concern as Dorian continued to laugh.

Finally, Dorian managed to right himself and wipe tears from his eyes as he looked at Aldred. “Amatus... Aldred, my dear,” Dorian said, his words broken by the occasional lingering chuckle while he leaned towards Aldred. Then, his voice dropped to a whisper, beckoning Aldred closer if he wanted to hear him. “ _I know that_.”

Aldred's ears were burning now, and he wondered how many other times it had been noted that he had no idea what he was doing. How many other people were laughing at him, laughing at the choices he made or the words he said? “Well, fine, now we _both_ know,” he grumbled, annoyed that Dorian would find such a confession so funny.

Dorian's hands found Aldred's face, fingers tightening on his jaw and forcing him to look directly at Dorian. “Shh, Aldred... had I known that _that_ was what was keeping you away, I would've offered you lessons. I'm a good teacher, I promise.”

Aldred's face burnt for different reasons at those words. He jerked out of Dorian's grip, mumbling an apology as he did. “I-I don't even recall much of what happened last time. I'm sorry.”

“Well, that smarts a little more than I care to admit... but, again, I already knew as much. You really do pull a lot of things out of your ass, and not in the way I wish I meant.” Dorian's teasing was shameful, Aldred almost freeing his hands from beneath him just so that he might hide his face. “Don't worry, I genuinely didn't think much of it until recently. Thought it was just nerves; a bit of clumsy excitement over doing something fun for once.”

Aldred thought about that for a moment, his teeth grazing over his bottom lip before he asked, “What made you begin to suspect otherwise?”

“Oh, some comment on the Circles... it's not important,” Dorian answered airily. 

“Doesn't it bother you, knowing I'm... I'm a fake? I don't know how many more roles I can stumble into before someone finally realizes that I'm... not suitable....” Aldred shifted, releasing his hands from their prison as he felt himself calming. Dorian instantly took the opportunity to catch Aldred's hands in his, lifting Aldred's exposed knuckles to his lips and planting soft kisses on each one. 

“You're a marvelous puppet,” Dorian spoke between his lightly placed affections. “I'm sure it pleases your advisers... but, I am no puppeteer. Let me cut your strings, at least in this.”

Aldred's breath hitched as Dorian made his offer, Dorian's lips finding their way back to Aldred's throat as though Aldred had never stopped him previously. “W-wait!”

Dorian made a grunt of annoyance and sat back. “Amatus... I'm not sure how many more times I can allow myself to be brushed off.”

Aldred shook his head. “Forgive me. I'm just... you ask me what I want from this, and I have no answer—and then you always threaten to leave. Surely you realize that makes it harder? I think you want me to be pushing you away as much as you want to pretend I am pushing you away. If I were, I wouldn't be asking you to wait.”

Aldred was afraid to meet Dorian's gaze, afraid to see what expression was held there. Was he angry? Aldred silently told himself his words were unnecessary, that he could've, and should've, just stayed silent and let Dorian do whatever he wanted. 

Sucking in a breath, Aldred drug his hands from Dorian's. 

“I don't want you to teach me... if you just are going to leave me. I don't want that,” he spoke slowly. “I know it's fine for plenty of the soldiers, and the Iron Bull seems to enjoy it... and, I know it's relatively common in your homeland... but, not me. It's not for me. If, after all of this, the Circles return... and I lose you... that's different. But, right now, I want to keep you. I want to hang onto whatever I can while I am free—I want all of it. I want to pretend it's... just how things are now. That, after the threats are gone, it won't all go back... back to the way it was.”

Somewhere in the mess of words, Aldred must have said the right ones. The back of Dorian's hand, warm and soft, met with Aldred's forehead, pushing back his colorless locks. Aldred had almost forgotten the bruise forming there, Dorian's touch just enough to remind him. And then he was reminded of a different memory.

His eyes shut out of fear, and Aldred yanked himself away from that touch. When he managed to look at Dorian again, there was concern in his eyes.

“Well... I don't suppose you care to explain that one?” Dorian queried. Aldred had never bothered to close his coat after Dorian had opened it, his chest exposed and readily showing how heavily he breathed.

“No,” Aldred responded curtly. “Not... not right now. I'm sorry.”

Dorian nodded. “I think... tonight may not be the best night for sex,” he said decidedly, Aldred feeling this was punishment for saying no to Dorian. “You're not really in the mindset I'd prefer you to be in—mopey is _not_ sexy.” There was a smile in the way he said those words, and Aldred relaxed marginally.

He started to shoulder his coat back on, but Dorian stopped him.

“No need to go pulling your dayclothes back on. Not like anyone expects you to be patrolling Skyhold at this hour,” Dorian reminded him. At Aldred's silence, he laughed softly and moved to gently press his lips to Aldred's cheek. “You're more easily upset than I realized before... I'd do better to remember that things are very different for you now, and that you can't always be the stoic hero you portray yourself as.”

It was calming to hear Dorian voice his thoughts for him, to know that, even through his stumbling over the words, Dorian _did_ understand what Aldred was trying to say to him. It was also somewhat bitter, because Aldred didn't like to hear someone else say the things he feared: that he couldn't always be who others needed him to be.


	7. Sweet & Sticky

Dorian had vanished after undressing Aldred, but not for good. He'd returned as quickly as one was able to, considering how many steps there were to descend from Aldred's chambers down to the throne room alone. Aldred didn't question where he'd gone, his thoughts keeping him occupied well enough. 

When Dorian did return, he brought a tray laden with poached pears, orange sweet rolls, a small round of cheese, and strips of smoked and salted beef. In one of his hands, he held a bottle of Silent Plains Piquette by its neck. 

Aldred's stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the start of the day. How many hours had that been? He was grateful his stomach had held off on growling until food had actually appeared before him. He didn't think he could handle his advisers commenting on the noise while they were in the war room. Josephine would have undoubtedly said something polite, but also motherly, and that would have made him feel like a child.

Setting the wine and the food down, Dorian made quick work of his own attire before bringing the food over to Aldred's sprawling bed. Aldred still wasn't used to the size of it, recalling the small pallet he'd called his back in Ostwick. 

_It could've been Kirkwall_.

Aldred blinked away the thought before Dorian had fully settled in next to him, the tray of food between them keeping them separate. Aldred had been too tired last time Dorian had been exposed to properly observe his athletic physique and the dark hair that made a fine trail down his torso. Now, he stared openly. He wanted to remember more than just pieces of some fulfilled sense of duty.

“I do enjoy how you hunger after me, but you should turn your thoughts towards sustenance of a more edible sort,” Dorian teased, a small knife flashing between his fingers as he selected the cheese round. He began carving the rind away from it, his fingers moving deftly and with experience as he did.

“Hard to imagine you've done this often...” Aldred commented, recalling that Dorian was accustomed to a finer sort of living.

“I've learned much while away from home, particularly during my little camping escapade in the Hinterlands.”

Aldred hummed in response, his fingers reaching to pluck a poached pear from the tray and place it in his mouth. It was deliciously sweet, his fingers sticky with the syrup from it. Aldred slipped them into his mouth, sucking the sugary taste off his skin and not caring if it was frowned upon. Dorian offered him a selection between a rind free bit of cheese or a portion of the rind itself, and Aldred selected the rind. The rinds, when edible, were always considerably stronger. Aldred liked the bite of flavor cheese could possess, and he tried not to remember or compare it to the considerably more bland options in Ostwick.

“Isn't that referred to as a 'slave wine' in Tevinter?” Aldred asked, watching as Dorian uncorked the Silent Plains Piquette. Its aroma was not nearly as strong as Cole's mysterious brandy, but still it had an enticingly rich scent to it. 

“Or we could just call it wine and _not_ talk about slaves or Tevinter,” Dorian redirected, and none too gently. 

Aldred shrugged, accepting the bottle from Dorian when it was handed to him and smelling it before taking a sip. It was sweet when it first hit the tongue, but had a far sharper edge to it than the brandy. Aldred grimaced, thinking he wanted to spit it out more than he wanted to swallow it. 

Dorian must've been watching his expressions, because he snorted and broke a small piece from the cheese rind before pushing it between Aldred's teeth assertively.

It helped, the cheese taking away some of the almost metallic taste of the wine and allowing him to better taste the fruit.

“You're not used to wine, are you,” Dorian said almost accusingly.

“Not at all. The brandy from earlier was a gift from Cole.”

Dorian clicked his tongue at that, his head shaking from side to side. “Accepting alcohol from demons... you have more guts than the rest of us, for certain. Or a penchant for risks.”

“If you only knew...” Aldred voiced, taking the Piquette from Dorian as it was held out to him again and eyeing it somewhat dubiously before drinking some. The second drink didn't seem as bad as the first, Aldred knowing this time to counter it with some of the cheese or roasted meat. 

Dorian's brow quirked with interest at the statement, and he easily countered, “If you'd only tell me.”

Aldred chose to tear apart an orange sweet roll and stuff a rather large chunk of it in his mouth rather than reply. He wouldn't give Dorian the satisfaction. Chewing thoughtfully on the glazed bread, he leaned back to recline on his elbows and stare at the ceiling. “I think,” he said once he'd swallowed, “that you've heard quite enough of my secrets for today.”

“Mmm... and yet, I feel like I've only learned results and not reasons,” Dorian mused as he bit into a strip of beef. 

Aldred didn't understand how Dorian's face didn't contort each time he took a drink of the wine, his bright blue eyes watching Dorian carefully as they ate. He guessed it really was his lack of experience with the drink that made it seem so foul. The pears, Aldred's favorite of the food on the tray, were steadily dwindling in numbers. 

“Once, after we killed that Fereldan Frostback, I had a drink with Iron Bull,” Aldred mentioned. He shifted on the bed, rotating his torso to better face Dorian as he relaxed and they passed the wine between them. “I still have no idea what he gave me... it burned.”

“I'd be surprised if it didn't, from what I know of Bull.” 

“Will you stay?” he asked as Dorian took the bottle back from him, this time setting it aside rather than take another drink.

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. What's the fun of a naked dinner if it isn't followed by naked sleep?” 

Aldred laughed in reply. He'd never done either of those things in Ostwick. In fact, there was a lot he hadn't done until Dorian had entered his life. 

“Do you... do you know why I was at the Chantry conclave?” Aldred had selected another piece of the tough beef, turning it between his fingers while he stared at it.

Dorian had a grim expression on his face, suggesting that he _did_ know something about why Aldred had been there, and that the reasoning was unpleasant. “The Ostwick Circle fell. You had nowhere else to go.”

“It didn't _fall_ ,” Aldred disagreed, ripping the meat strip into smaller pieces as he spoke. “It was torn down. We ran. We ran like ducklings, scurrying to reach the shelter of mother's wings. And then....”

“The whole thing went ka-blooie—a hole in the sky, you the sudden savior of the world,” Dorian finished.

Aldred exhaled a scornful laugh. The smoked beef strip had become shreds in his hand, and he didn't really feel like eating them. “Well enough; I don't think the Chantry would've cared anyways. Even if they had been able to discuss the Mage-Templar War, I feel as though they would've sided with their soldiers. Mage-Templar War...” Aldred scoffed and smiled bitterly. “Mage massacre, they mean. It's not a war when your opponent is locked up, is it? Not really.”

“And _that_ is the sort of thing I wish you would talk to me about. _What happened_? Something clearly went wrong, very wrong.”

“Yeah. But, it's all 'before'.” Aldred snorted as he recalled words he'd spoken earlier that day, that somehow he felt he should be back there. 'There' didn't exist anymore.

“And you don't wish to discuss 'before',” Dorian said calmly.

Aldred dropped the shredded beef back on the tray, his eyes scouring the remaining food before he selected another sticky-sweet pear. He just couldn't resist them, shoving its entirety in his mouth and sucking the juice from it until he had no choice but to gnaw on the skin of it left behind. “There are bigger problems than my own,” Aldred responded decidedly as he chose yet another pear from the tray. It had more syrup  
on it than he realized, some of the liquid sugar dripping onto his chin before he could catch it.

Dorian was watching, and Aldred reddened a little before moving to wipe the syrup from his chin. A hand stopped him, Dorian's fingers curling tightly around Aldred's wrist like he was gripping his staff in combat. The tray moved out from between them, Dorian sending it away, to rest elsewhere, with just a flick of his eyes. Aldred envied the power behind that simple gesture, knowing it took considerably more effort from him to move anything without his staff. 

Any further thoughts he had regarding it were pushed out of his head when Dorian leaned closer, his tongue swiping over the stickiness on Aldred's chin and clearing away the mess. Aldred made a noise in his throat, a soft whimper of surprise at the gesture, and then Dorian's mouth was covering his and his teeth were biting softly at Aldred's lower lip, his tongue tasting the remains of pear juice in Aldred's mouth as though he'd chosen Aldred to devour next.

Dorian effortlessly found his way into Aldred's lap as he did all this, his hands guiding Aldred's to hold him by the hips while he continued to kiss and nip along Aldred's throat and jaw with the occasional intense return to his lips. Aldred groaned, his fingers pressing into the muscle and meat of Dorian's hips a little harder than he intended. Dorian made no protest, his own hands squeezing Aldred's shoulders in a way that bordered on painful and pleasureful.

“Dorian... Dorian, I thought you said no sex tonight,” Aldred mumbled when he was able to manage the words.

“This isn't sex; this is kissing,” Dorian corrected him, his hands moving to push against Aldred's torso and force him down against the bed. He slipped lower, planting his kisses across the entirety of Aldred's exposed chest.

Aldred's breath quickened as Dorian continued his journey downwards, his head bobbing slightly in acceptance. “Okay.”


	8. Sand in Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, somehow I managed to post chapter 9 before 8. I apologize for any confusion, and will be early posting chapter 9 to cleae up confusion.

The Western Approach was probably the worst place Aldred had ever stepped foot in, just as Scout Harding had warned him. Fierce howling winds chased them across the terrain, sand endlessly stinging any exposed skin it could find. Aldred didn't understand how it was possible to be both burning of heat and freezing of cold all at once, but the Western Approach did not care if its behavior was impossible and he persisted feeling torn between two extremes.

Talking was only guaranteed to end with a mouthful of sand, and Aldred rather thought he'd prefer to keep his teeth clear of the gritty texture. So, as they journeyed, Aldred instead busied himself with thoughts of the morning rather than chit-chat. 

He'd woken to Dorian's warm backside pressing against him, his left arm trapped and numb somewhere beneath Dorian's torso. Seeing Dorian asleep, he'd wished his arm didn't cry for freedom so loudly—his skin had pricked and burned, the blood begging to flow properly through his limb. When Aldred gave in and began to wiggle his arm free, Dorian emitted a sleepy protest.

Then Dorian had grunted, a large yawn escaping him as he'd rolled onto his back and met Aldred with a rested yet not quite awake stare. 

Aldred had reached for him with his functioning hand, his fingers sliding over Dorian's chest then reaching further to wrap around his waist. Pulling, he'd encouraged Dorian to come closer to him and meet him face-to-face. He wanted to look at Dorian more—to see him soft and unburdened by the stress of his origins. 

Even as Aldred struggled with his own past, his was private. Dorian's was known, and the eyes of judgment followed him no matter where he went in Skyhold. Perhaps that was why Aldred felt so inclined to bring Dorian along each time he left Skyhold. Besides his competency in battle, Aldred felt better knowing Dorian would have some reprieve from the disapproving whispers.

As much as Andrastian mages were seen as a threat across Thedas, a supposed Imperial magister was considerably more of an unknown danger. A man from a land where mages ruled... Aldred could only wonder what that was like. Dorian had told him some things about his homeland, but much of it was coated in the bitterness of Dorian's own memories.

Lost in thought, it wasn't much of a surprise when Aldred ran directly into some sort of carved rock, its height just below his waist and out of his line of sight. His companions tensed as they witnessed their 'leader' go tumbling head over heels, his face meeting the blight-caused sand covered ground for an intimate kiss as he did.

Then Sera was laughing, and Blackwall was hurrying to help him up and brush the sand from the front of his armor. Dorian hung back, and Aldred could understand why. 

Though they always shared a tent, and the rumors of their relationship had become more than trite nonsense, the two had never fully pronounced their involvement. Unless one went by the name Leliana, rumors and idle gossip were not an essential part of the Inquisition or its members, and Dorian had requested they not distract others with the details of their shared time together.

Spitting out sand, Aldred realized it hardly did any good to keep it a secret when _he_ was the one apparently so distracted by it. 

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Blackwall asked in that rumbling voice of his. If it had been at all appropriate, Aldred thought he would've liked to hug the man while he spoke just to feel how his chest might vibrate. 

“I'm fine, just fine. Just tripped over that... rock... thing,” Aldred answered, his words trailing off as he looked at the object of his stumbling. “What is that?”

The four of them stood around the rock, observing its flat sides and sloping top and the mysteriousness of its presence.

It was Sera who broke the silence, a verbal shrug escaping her mouth before she spoke. “Who cares? Looks like some forgotten decoration. Probably some artist git with too much time on his hands, travelin' round the desert and decidin' to drop a stupid stone here.”

“Perhaps symbolic of 'isolation'?” Dorian asked with a smirk, entertaining Sera's theory even as baseless as it were.

“We should keep moving. The next camp is still a good distance, and I want a break from all this... sand,” Blackwall mentioned gruffly. Aldred nodded in agreement and mentally ticked off another reason in his head why Blackwall, despite being somewhat eerie, was someone he enjoyed traveling with: the man was always ready to press on.


	9. Bad Boots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to everyone who read chapter 9 before 8. I have corrected this and left 9 up, but please do go back for the actual chapter 8: Sand in Mouth

“You seem bothered,” Dorian stated as he entered their shared tent. 

Aldred had retired as soon as he was able, holing himself up in one of the tents of the campsite. The wind carried on outside, scraping sand over the fabric of the tent but doing no real harm, and he was grateful to be surrounded by still air even in spite of how humid it had begun to feel inside the tent. 

“No more than usual,” Aldred remarked, his hands occupied with the hawk shaped pauldron that often adorned his right shoulder. He'd started off just trying to remove some of the sand from between its intricately sculpted wings, but it hadn't taken long and he'd moved on to shining the piece of armor. At this point, he really ought to have stopped—any more, and it would be bright enough to use as a beacon on the Storm Coast.

“Well, then I guess I'm developing a sense for when you're bothered at all.”

Aldred shrugged, not daring to look at Dorian when the sound of buckles being undone met his ears. Still, he could easily imagine what was beneath Dorian's armor.

He entered something of a mindless trance as his thoughts slipped away to the events of the night prior, hands still absently polishing his pauldron more than what was necessary. They'd eaten their fill, and he'd been introduced to bad tasting wine, which supposedly meant it was _good_ wine, and there had been plenty of talking.... 

_This isn't sex; this is kissing_.

The anchor suddenly flared, Aldred's pauldron shooting out of his hand and ripping several holes in the side of the tent with its knife-like metal wings before falling to the ground. Aldred stared at it in horror, Dorian watching with eyes just as wide. 

“See, now I _know_ something is wrong,” Dorian insisted as he moved across the tent to retrieve the pauldron. His hand passed gently over the damaged fabric of the tent, a shimmer of light following his palm and leaving the tent entirely intact. It was as if there had never been any tearing at all. Dorian observed the overly polished pauldron grimly before returning it to Aldred. “Come now, what is it?”

Aldred gave a soft and derisive laugh before deciding to set the pauldron aside. There really was nothing more to be done with it, unless he wanted to hit Dorian next with it by accident. 

“It isn't really one thing. And I'm going to blame _that_ on you, honestly,” Aldred told him, his eyes looking between Dorian and the pauldron as he spoke. Dorian had only gotten so far as removing his boots before Aldred had unintentionally startled them both, but now he continued to remove his armor as he spoke.

“Why am _I_ the one being blamed for flying bits of armor?” he demanded to know, confusion and mild amusement twisting his brows up. 

“Because. I sit in judgment, and I pronounce you guilty of distracting the Inquisitor,” Aldred decided.

“Ah, of course. And what will my sentencing be?”

Aldred pursed his lips and hummed thoughtfully, his hand moving to pat the blankets beside him and beckon Dorian to join him. “Three kisses, adorned upon the lips of the Inquisitor.”

Dorian sat as Aldred requested, his teeth grazing along his lower lip as Aldred pronounced his punishment. “Oh, I see. I'm not sure that punishment is harsh enough for me to truly learn my lesson.”

“It wouldn't be a punishment if I gave you more.”

“Ah! Punishment by withholding!” Dorian exclaimed. “Just enough to excite and leave me wanting more. How cruel!”

“Well, will you not fulfill your sentence?” Aldred questioned, ignoring the feigned pout upon Dorian's lips as he waited expectantly.

“Naturally, I would prefer to resist like any decent criminal at their sentencing,” Dorian answered. “Besides, you still have not answered my question. I'll accept the consequences of further punishment after I've bullied an answer from you.”

Aldred blew out a breath and adjusted his legs, his hands pulling his bare feet closer to his body before pressing his thumbs into the arches. They were sore, constantly and endlessly sore. He'd thought walking along the slippery and wet landscape of the Storm Coast had been tiring, but it had been nothing compared to the strain of trekking across the sand of the Western Approach. There was no such thing as sure footing out there, and Aldred's boots had found entirely new areas and ways to pinch and chafe as they'd journeyed. 

“Do you think my advisers are laughing at me?” Aldred asked, his hands wrapping around his left foot as he spoke. A blister was forming on his ankle....

“Of course not,” Dorian answered. “Even if they were, Josephine is much too polite to openly mock you. And, Leliana... I think you'd have a better chance irritating her than amusing her, honestly. Cullen, however... well, I think the lyrium killed his sense of humor years ago.”

“So, they could be?”

“Who cares if they are? They still listen to you, don't they? We all do.”

Aldred nodded. That was true, but he was not sure if there was any comfort to find in it. They listened to him, but only because he was the accidental byproduct of Corypheus' failure.

“What else is on your mind?” Dorian prompted. He scooted closer to Aldred, gesturing that he turn towards him so that they might sit face-to-face. Then, he brushed Aldred's hands away from his tender feet and pulled them into his own lap, his fingers delicately running over Aldred's bruised and travel-worn feet.

Aldred couldn't help the pleased groan that escaped him when Dorian applied pressure, massaging deep into the tissue. It almost hurt, but the pleasure far outweighed the pain.

“Things... probably ridiculous things,” Aldred confessed, putting his hands behind him to support his weight as he leaned back. “You're really marvelous at that...” he commented, closing his eyes to better focus on what Dorian was doing.

“What sorts of things?”

“Mm... we studied, you know, in the Circle. Like you, but different. Maps....” A bitter half laugh escaped him. “The world really is big, isn't it? Much larger than I imagined. I saw the maps. I knew the measurements, the longitude the latitude, all of that... still, I am constantly surprised by the vastness of everywhere we go. And then there are all these climates... maps don't tell you about climates. Sure, I guess meteorology does, but even then... you don't really _understand_ what it is to be frigid until you've experienced it, right?”

“Nothing is ever really the way books say...” Dorian replied. His thumb grazed over the forming blister, and Aldred winced slightly. 

“No. No, you're right....” Aldred sighed wistfully and stretched out further. “It must be something, to you, to hear of my studies and know that I'm supposedly a learned man, when I am so childishly ignorant of everything.”

“Innocent, not ignorant,” Dorian corrected, his tone strict and commanding—Aldred almost felt scolded, the way Dorian had spoken. “Even still, it's nothing to be embarrassed by. You present yourself as a remarkable leader, regardless of your history.”

“You know it's an act... it's all fake,” Aldred reminded him. 

“Well, the results are real. You've saved people, brought them together and given them hope. There is nothing fake about that.” Dorian's hands switched between Aldred's feet so that he might attend to the right one now, his eyes occasionally flicking up to watch Aldred and survey his face. “As many times as you bring it up, I'm never going to agree with you on this. You're a good leader; saying you're not would be foolish. It wouldn't make you feel better, and I don't believe it anyways. Besides, I'm not in the habit of hiding my opinions.”

Aldred chuckled. “But it makes _you_ feel better, right? At least knowing I am inexperienced in some areas, and that you can be my mentor?”

“I can't say it displeases me to know you're not entirely my superior...” Dorian offered. “We really ought to get your boots better lined. Perhaps Plush Fustian Velvet? You need something to protect these feet of yours... you're so delicate!”

Shrugging, Aldred pushed himself upright and yawned. “Being locked in a tower does that to people,” he commented. “I'm surprised you're not more delicate yourself. Rumors say you had a rather comfortable upbringing.”

“Depends on whose definition of comfort.”

“Doesn't it always. It's times like this it almost seems enviable to be a farmer... isn't it odd that there are people out there with no connection to war?”

“What?”

“None. No connection at all.... The ones without magic who never decided to pick up anything sharper than a cheese knife. Isn't that odd?” Aldred asked.

“Do you believe mages are inherently prone to war?” Dorian queried.

“Perhaps not prone, but certainly trained for it,” Aldred responded. “If we are prone... it is only because we are treated like animals, and maybe that's why we respond like them. Cornered, afraid, nothing to do but lash out with the only weapon we have.”

“You really do think too much,” Dorian said. “Perhaps you ought to read more. I hear Varrics's new book is absolute garbage; it might be a fun distraction for you.”

Aldred shook his head. “Reading is for education... I'm not sure I could waste my time like that.”

Dorian laughed loudly and released Aldred's foot, his hands clapping together as he did. “I wish he'd been here to hear such a statement! You poor thing! 'Reading is for education',” Dorian mimicked him stiffly before continuing to laugh. “My dear, you had better find something enjoyable to do—at this rate, you're almost a Tranquil.”

Aldred tensed at the comment, his fingers curling tightly around the blankets beneath him until his knuckles turned white. It was very hard to breathe now, Aldred's chest tight and his heart fluttering anxiously against his ribcage.

“Aldred? Aldred, what's wrong?”

“I... I need air,” Aldred managed to utter. He almost rose too quickly, his head spinning a bit as he stood and hurriedly left the tent without his boots. There were just some things that he couldn't talk about yet.


	10. Poisoned Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of my mistake yesterday, three chapters were posted on the 6th and only one will be posted today.  
> My apologies, again!

There was another one of those _things_. Those odd carved stones, half buried in sand, that made no sense. Aldred could see it from their campsite, standing out as a black blot against the sand even in the dark. He didn't like them, something about those stones made him uneasy. At the same time, he was intensely curious. How many had they seen now? Aldred thought and ticked off on his fingers each passed stone. Four, the fifth being the one his eyes fell on now.

“Inquisitor....”

Aldred looked up to see Blackwall above him. He gave a nod, his gaze returning to the stone. “There's someone down there,” he commented, pretending it was not the stone he stared at, but the small little spread out campsite not far from their own. 

“Aye—a draconologist, or so he calls himself,” Blackwall responded.

“Oh, so you've been to see him?” Aldred asked. His feet were dangling from the rocks he sat on, still bare of footwear. Dorian had not followed him, and Aldred had felt it was probably best. 

“I have. Don't much fancy just sitting in camp.”

“Well, you could always sleep,” Aldred suggested. 

“As could you. What are you doing out here, in the dead of night?” Blackwall asked. His armor, bulky and thick, was surprisingly quiet as he shifted his weight between his feet.

“I... you're not a mage.”

“Course not,” Blackwall agreed gruffly.

“What do you know about the Tranquil?” Aldred could hear Blackwall moving a little more now, his armor still fairly silent when he sat down beside Aldred. 

“What everyone knows, I suppose. People cut off from the Fade, unable to dream... unable to really feel anything besides logic. Not really happy or sad. Just... tranquil, peaceful... _creepy_.”

Aldred laughed a little. “Creepy is right. You know people always talk about the voluntarily Tranquil... but, I've never seen such a person.”

“What about that girl, the creature researcher... Helisma? Isn't she Tranquil by choice?” Blackwall mentioned.

Aldred shook his head. “Maybe, but I don't believe it. If someone is taught to fear themselves, forced to live a life where their own hands are labeled as threatening weapons... how can they consciously make a choice to give it all up? It's rather like telling someone that the food they have before them is poisoned and they'd be better off going hungry. Of course they'll give up the food, even if it was never poisoned at all. Because hungry is better than dead, right?”

“I'm not sure I'm the right sort to be discussing this with...” Blackwall admitted. “Wouldn't Dorian know more?”

“Dorian... he doesn't understand.”

“How could he not? He's a mage, and the Rite of Tranquility is present in Tevinter.”

“For _criminals_ ,” Aldred said firmly. “Real, actual criminals. Not little kids whose excitement manifests in their magic. Not scared men and women who back up their rejections with a barrier, or teens who have nightmares and accidentally surround themselves by ice. _Not for people whose crime was having feelings_.”

Blackwall was silent, his thumb rubbing against the hilt of his sword as he thought. “Sounds like there is a lot of weight to your words. More than you're going to tell me, I'm sure.”

Aldred nodded. “You have your secrets... I have mine, and it's best we maintain them. After all, there are people who have expectations of us, aren't there. Can't let them know we are just as weak as they are.”

Blackwall laughed roughly. “True enough. In times of difficulty, the public wants their heroes invincible,” Blackwall conceded. “You ought to sleep, Inquisitor.”

Aldred shrugged, but pulled himself up regardless and tilted his head towards Blackwall. “I suppose. Thank you for lending your ear.”

“Can't say I really did much,” Blackwall responded.


	11. On the Chantry Trail

“Why are we followin' the bloody rocks?” The whined question had already been asked by Sera at least eight times, Aldred patiently answering each time.

“Because, they obviously lead somewhere and I would like to know where that is.”

It wasn't a very good reason, Aldred realized, but it wasn't like Sera had needed to come. She was perfectly welcome to stay in camp, a fact Dorian had made clear the first time she'd complained that morning.

Still, she continued to follow as they trekked across sand and snuck past small camps of bandits.

“Doesn't seem to be any point to being a bandit out here... there's nothing to steal,” Dorian commented as they stayed low and avoided another group of bandits.

“Psh. There's plenty—lots of idiots come traipsing through here. Easy to hide a body in sand and never find it again, yanno?” Sera argued. “Think how many we might be walkin' on... riiiight now.”

“S'not the bandits that worry me as much... personally dislike the hyenas,” Blackwall grumbled.

Aldred dusted the sand off the top of another unusual stone, his eyes scouring its surface and the engraving atop it. It looked very much like a book and Aldred had a rising suspicion that it was meant to be a Chantry book. Aldred felt the stones held some secret that meant something to him, but with each one they found he did not feel any relief at possibly being closer to understanding.

“I honestly don't care much for any of the things we've met out here,” Dorian said. “But, in particular, I just don't see the point of being out here to rob people. It's not like there's a good source of water nearby, or any animals that are exactly good to eat, and not to mention that the view is simply terrible.” 

Blackwall raised a hand, instantly shushing Dorian as he crouched beside Aldred. “Inquisitor, others ahead...”

Aldred stepped back from the stone, nodding and moving to take the lead. He hated that he was expected to be at the front of their party at all times. Of course that's where a leader ought to be, but he was still unconvinced that he was any sort of leader. There was also nothing appealing to him about being the first one to potentially die at any given moment.

He moved cautiously, grateful for once for the endless sand and how it muffled their movements. As Blackwall had warned, there were people nearby; White Claw Raiders. Beyond them was a small camp, perhaps theirs or that of a former victim. It was just past the campsite that Aldred saw a movement that made him shudder with anticipation. There was some sort of barrier, swirling and warding off those who might try to enter into the small cave it blocked. 

That... that was where the stones led. He knew it.

“What's the plan?” Sera asked, her voice in his ear startling Aldred. “We thinkin' sneaky-like or somethin' more bombastic?” 

“I say we simply get the jump on them and finish them quickly,” Dorian suggested, now also uncomfortably close to Aldred. Aldred struggled not to flinch at Dorian's proximity. There had been no further discussions between them after last night. 

“I'm with Dorian. I'm not one to complain, but I'm not very fond of all the sand gathering in my boots. I'd like to get back to Skyhold soon,” Blackwall agreed. 

“Right then... Sera you, uh, do what you do best and we'll follow your lead,” Aldred said, Sera nodding. A cheeky smirk was planted on her face, her sharp brows expressing more emotion than Aldred could understand as she slipped away quietly and slunk across the sand dunes. Several arrows were loosed in an instant, raiders crying out and slumping over in the sand as they were hit. They did not rise again, and Sera flashed a grin at her comrades behind her.

“Well... I suppose that was fast enough,” Dorian remarked, striding forward on the sand to join Sera. “Tell me, does your tongue train your arrows or do your arrows train your tongue?”

“Izzat supposed to be a compliment?” Sera asked, one eyebrow arching as she stared at him.

“Very much so; quick and deadly. Others may not think so, but I do find it very charming. A good way to die, or to have one's hopes squashed.”

“If that's your attempt at a flirt, you can keep it in your pocket.”

Dorian blinked in dismay, Aldred covering a laugh and Blackwall rolling his eyes at their interactions. “I assure you my interests lie elsewhere...”

“So I've heard,” Sera stated, prompting Aldred to say something before things could go any further.

“The camp. We should see what that's about,” he said, his words a bit more rushed than he intended. “That cave there, with the barrier, I think that's where those stones lead,” he mentioned as they drew nearer to it. Blackwall and Sera stood back, both looking upon the barrier with the usual amount of disinterest they held for such things. Neither could remove it, and it likely guarded something that had no value to either of them. 

Dorian, however, was studying it while his gloved fingers grazed over his stubble-ridden chin. Aldred couldn't imagine what might be beyond it, but the mouth of the cave continued to echo familiarity at him in some way. It wasn't a good way, either, shivers threatening to wrack his body as he approached the barrier.

He raised his staff, fire and lightning flying forward at his command to assault the barrier. It cracked and hissed at his attacks, protesting the barrage of elements that Aldred threw at it, until it finally gave way and unraveled itself into nothing. As they approached the mouth of the cave, Aldred was grateful it was so hot—no one could possibly suspect the sweat upon his skin to be from his own nervousness.

“My... isn't it interesting to feel solid ground under your feet for once?” Dorian asked as they traveled inward and followed the sloping ground of the cave down into the earth. He was right—there was no sand in here, only hollowed out rock that provided sure footing.

“Can't say I dislike it,” Blackwall answered, his voice its usual amount of gruff despite his agreement.

“Oooh well I can say I don't much care for caves like these,” Sera mentioned, her eyes watching the shadows their party cast upon the walls. “Too random. Shouldn't be a cave in the middle of a desert like this. Ain't normal....”

“It wasn't always a desert,” Blackwall reminded her.

“Yeah, but still-” 

Aldred stopped in his tracks, instantly silencing them both as he stared at what lie at the end of the cave.

There was a raised platform, fire burning in the center of it though the cave had long ago been abandoned. Chains descended from the ceiling, cuffs broken open and empty. If it weren't for the eerie familiarity of the place, Aldred might have been more relieved to see there were no forgotten skeletons here.

A large cabinet was hidden further back from the platform, and an identical one stood behind two tables. An image of a phylactery was molded into the wood of each one, and Aldred's breath began coming to him in short gasps as he approached the tables. The smell of stone and dirt around him and the dimness of the cave was beginning to feel suffocating, though these things did not usually bother him. 

His hands brushed over a few scrolls documenting maps and Chantry prayers—nothing unusual or interesting about those. Dorian picked up a book and mumbled its contents under his breath, a loud scoff coming from him as he tossed it back upon the table.

“Idiots,” he spat, clearly bothered by what he'd read.

“So, what is this place?” Sera asked while playing with the chains. They clanked against each other and dust fell from the ceiling, Sera jumping back and looking up to verify they were still attached. 

“Some disgusting hide-out for playing with Tranquils. It's not enough for the Chantry to demonize mages and steal the life from them, they also just can't help experimenting on their little placid creations. Taunting demons with their pathetic vessels, devoid of emotion and unappealing to creatures in the Fade... they were trying to see what could break tranquility.” Dorian was snapping his fingers together irritably, a flame sparking to life between his thumb and forefinger each time before being extinguished. 

“Oh, eww.” Sera grimaced as she spoke, her nose wrinkling in disapproval. “Tranquils... I don't like 'em. Nothing fun about those guys.”

“Nothing fun about any of it,” Dorian said firmly. He turned on his heel, moving to address Aldred but falling silent before he could say anything more. 

Aldred was bent over another book, his eyes following its contents rapidly. He would occasionally pause and look around the cavernous room before resuming his reading. He flipped the pages back and forth, starting over again and again while occasionally looking over the trappings of the cave again. He was breathing heavily now, his pupils pinpricks against his chilly blue irises.

“I remember...” he said softly, eyes darting to the chains. Their sharp edges had cut into his wrists, and he remembered how they rattled as he struggled against them. He remembered waking up here, hot and dusty and groggy beyond all belief. 

“Inquisitor?” Blackwall asked.

Aldred's palm was sparking, green tendrils whipping from it and sending pain up his arm and into his jaw. It was his other palm he raised, however, eyes looking at it and seeing nothing but the leather of his glove there. But, beneath... he recalled the faint scar that was embedded in its flesh. The sting and burn of the knife as it had sliced through his palm, his hand no bigger than a playing card at the time and too small to even hold an apple on its own. 

As if he had been cut again, Aldred jerked back and stumbled against the uneven ground. The anchor was reacting violently to his memories, but he almost didn't notice it. Blood was dripping in his mind, welling from his injured hand. It was stolen from him, drained into a vile that lit up and sparkled and glowed. 

It had been beautiful, but Aldred had feared it. It had been forced into his hands, and he had not wanted it. He remembered screaming at it, screaming at how it had flared even brighter in his hands, and then he'd thrown it. The thing had shattered, his blood painting the wall it'd hit. And then his palm was being squeezed for more blood, and another glowing vial was created.

This one was not given to him, and he had cried out as a cloth was pressed into his wound. He had cried awfully at all of it, only a child and a very confused one at that. 

Now he was crying again, unable to help it. This was what he'd been missing. The reason he could never be free. When this was all over, there was nothing to be done but to return to the Circles.

That or run. Run and be hunted. His own blood would give him away, would lead others to find and follow him and either kill him or drag him back. Drag him back to where? It didn't matter. Running was not an option. Not really.

A surge of anger coursed through him, Aldred turning and slamming his crackling fist into one of the phylactery cabinets. The Anchor burst and snapped in response, the cabinet door, old and rotten, splintering inwards. Vials, some empty and some dark with dead blood, tipped and rolled on the shelves. A few fell from their place, smashing against the floor and releasing nothing but air and crumbles of dried mage blood. 

His wasn't here. That was obvious. It was gone, hidden away for some foul Templar to use if Aldred ever tried to “escape”. 

“Al-Inquisitor,” Dorian spoke, nearly slipping and calling him by name over title.

Aldred's knuckles ached and it was almost a relief, the scraped and banged feeling of them giving him an alternative sort of pain to focus on over that of the Anchor's agitated snapping. He saw Dorian hovering where he was, unable to come to him and comfort him even as Aldred's cheeks were wet with tears.

“We should go,” Aldred said, his voice thick with frustration as he looked away from Dorian. He couldn't bear to look at him; there would be no future for them. He could try and forget the past all he wanted, but the past was in his future and that's simply how it was.

Blackwall and Sera did a marvelous job of suppressing any thoughts they had on Aldred's behavior, both moving immediately towards the cave entrance again. Dorian faltered in his steps, waiting for any look or word from Aldred to indicate he was alright. Aldred ran his arm over his damp cheeks, wiping away the moisture and signaling for Dorian to join the others.

Taking his own steps forward, Aldred spoke silently to the flame upon the platform. He urged its growth, telling it of the things around it that it might consume. So much old wood and dry paper, glass that would heat until it glowed and burst from the stress. The fire listened, and behind him he could hear the sound of fire licking at and burning through all that was within its reach.

He wasn't finished, though. It wasn't enough just to destroy the documents left behind. He wasn't satisfied with _just_ that.

Boots sinking into the soft sand outside, Aldred turned towards the gaping maw of the cave and raised his hands. At their movement, the stone groaned and creaked. Sera threw up her hands to cover her ears, Blackwall ducking behind his shield. Aldred's brow glistened with sweat from the effort, his entire body straining as he moved his hands together slowly. In one final gesture he shoved them down and the cave collapsed inwards on itself, the noise deafening as the stones fell and thundered against each other.


	12. Studying

Dorian had been trying to corner him ever since they had returned to Skyhold. Aldred kept his distance by spending more time at the war table with Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine. He frequently left on provision journeys, taking Cole, Vivienne, and Cassandra with him rather than face anyone who might ask too many questions.

But, somehow, there really was a limit to what could be accomplished immediately. Aldred found himself with nothing to do but wait, and no one was willing to go camping in the wilderness just for the hell of it. With all the instability across Thedas, nearly everyone was desperate to have the same bed two nights in a row.

Aldred finally had the time to sleep but found he was unable to. Each night was nothing but tossing and turning, thoughts of the Circle rolling about in his head and making it impossible to sleep. When he did drift off, he found himself in hellish nightmares landscaped by the demons in the Fade. Beyond his inability to sleep, ever since they had found that god awful cave in the Western Approach he'd been experiencing headaches that matched in horribleness. They hid behind his eyes, darkening his vision and pounding against his skull for hours at a time. Sleeping was the only thing that seemed to quell them, but he couldn't even manage that.

He was irritable from the unending pain and the exhaustion he felt, and bitter at the world around him. It wasn't fair to think that he could be raised into a position of leadership and that, once the world was safe again, he would be nothing again. He would be just another “dangerous” mage to keep an eye on, to keep “safe” by locking away and turning his focus upon whatever was demanded. 

Almost as though he was attempting to relearn his old lifestyle, Aldred locked himself in his room and poured over textbooks upon various uninteresting subjects; the anatomy of the nug, the uses of rashvine, theories on the Fade.... Aldred found it all boring, but there was no reason not to continue studying them. The Circles did not and would not care what he personally found interesting. It was about what needed to be translated, copied, and kept. 

Sifting through the stacks of books that surrounded his desk, Aldred was startled to find a book regarding the Tevinter Imperium among them. He had never seen it before. His fingers ran along its spine, and he wondered what might be told within it. Tevinter books were forbidden where he came from. They were never to read and learn about a land where mages were essentially nobility. 

Just holding the book gave Aldred a rush of adrenaline. He dared to slowly open it, and a shiver of anticipation ran down his spine; he felt like he might be caught at any moment. Scolded. Punished. 

The light of the sky vanished without him even noticing, his eyes squinting in the dark at the book as he hungrily devoured its contents. He didn't even think to light a candle, too focused on the book and its contents. He had just begun a section that mentioned the word _Dreamers_ repeatedly, but he was unclear of its meaning. It was in some way connected to the upper class of Tevinter, and Aldred found his thoughts drifting to Dorian. 

He had to agree with the word. Dorian was the epitome of a dreamer. 

The very thought of Dorian seemed to summon him, Aldred suddenly and acutely aware that he was no longer alone in his chambers. Dorian had never snuck up on him before, but now Aldred knew it was better to be wary for, when Dorian did suddenly appear before his desk, he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Maker, Dorian!” he said in alarm, the book falling from his hands and hitting the edge of the desk with a thud before landing on the floor. “Was that really necessary!?”

Dorian shrugged. “I'd say it wouldn't have been if you hadn't been doing such a good job of avoiding me,” he replied, his brows turning down in a glower that could have been at Aldred or could've been due to the dimness of the room. He was almost a shadow in this light, Aldred finally realizing just how dark it had become. The candle on his desk flared to life before he could even move to light it, and Dorian's face was now sharply contrasted before him.

“We need to talk,” Dorian said firmly, planting his palms on Aldred's desk as he leaned towards him.

Aldred scoffed and pushed back his chair, rising to his feet to move away from Dorian. “There's nothing to talk about, Dorian.”

“There is _plenty_ to talk about,” Dorian argued. “I'm becoming very impatient, Aldred. You say you want me, but you keep pushing me away. You ignore me and hide from me; clearly there is something about me, or something I've done, that has upset you and I want to know what it is!”

Aldred felt his teeth grind together as he scowled at Dorian. The lack of sleep was wearing him down, and Dorian's anger was agitating him fiercely. “Why must you always make it about yourself? It's nothing to do with you! It has to do with my own issues!”

“Oh great, the 'it's not you, it's me!' speech!” Dorian threw up his hands in disgust. His voice carried the same bitterness it held when he spoke of his father, and somehow this irked Aldred even more. “Fine! Get it all out; if those are the words you want to share, let's hear them.”

“Dorian, you addle-minded arrogant brat—you are absolutely insufferable!” Aldred snapped. “You spoiled silk-wearing over-groomed smart-mouthed peacock of a man!”

Dorian's eyes widened at Aldred's insults, his face bearing an expression of genuine shock as he looked at Aldred. “How da-”

“I'm not done speaking!” Aldred cut him off, his steps firm as he circled around the desk to meet Dorian. “You are an absolute fool, and I a bigger fool for ever thinking this could work! You encourage me to speak, and yet you are insistent on speaking for me. Forcing words into my mouth and stating them as facts, taking away my right to even decide my own thoughts! I'm always fighting for you, fighting to keep you and protesting your claims—you back me into opposition before I can even think!”

“Are you honestly accusing me of _guilting_ you into a relationship with me!?” Dorian asked, his voice shriller than Aldred had ever heard before.

“I'd accuse you of temptation first! Dangling this fruitful promise before me, knowing full well it is out of my reach and I can never have it! You know I am weak and full of desire, yet you are incapable of lowering this branch to me—that or you never intended to!”

“Ignorant fool!” Dorian barked, standing his ground even as Aldred stepped nearer to him. “I am offering you everything I have to give! I have waited for you! I have _been_ waiting this entire time, and still you do not talk on your own terms! If there is something else I must do, tell me what it is—otherwise, do not blame me for your inability to take what is right in front of you!”

“I already told you, it's not about you!” The anchor flared in Aldred's palm, but his exhaustion and fury with Dorian overpowered the pain it brought with each snap of energy. 

“Then what is it about!?” Dorian roared, his words echoing off the stone walls of Aldred's chamber and repeating the question to Aldred over and over. 

_What is it about? What is it about? What is it about?_

Hearing the question ask itself again and again, Aldred backed away from Dorian. He'd never openly expressed so much anger, and the realization that it was Dorian he was shouting at made his chest physically hurt. Defeated and disappointed by his own behavior, Aldred's eyes fell to the floor. This sort of behavior... it was not allowed in the circles. At that thought, he almost felt some remorse that he might never get to be angry like this again. It was an odd realization, and odder still to feel sad over, but he couldn't help it.

“Dorian...” Aldred said quietly, his eyes passing over the fallen book on Tevinter. “Make me a slave... please?” He didn't dare to meet Dorian's gaze, to see what thoughts might be painted there as he asked this question. The question had escaped him before he could even think, and yet he knew he meant it seriously.

“What? Why would you ever ask something like that of me!?” Dorian asked incredulously, but Aldred continued to look away in shame. Dorian followed his gaze, and his boots scuffed against the floor quietly as he moved past Aldred to see what it was he looked at. The silence was painful, Dorian bending to retrieve the book from the floor before throwing it on the desk.

The sound of the leather cover slamming against the desktop made Aldred flinch, but he kept his mouth shut. What could he possibly say? He had been clear, and Dorian had heard exactly what he'd said. He could not take back his words, and he didn't want to. 

“Aldred...” Dorian began, his voice low as he came to Aldred's side. “I don't understand. Why would you ask that? You have to answer me... you can't just ask something like that and not answer me! Answer me!” Dorian's words were growing more frantic, and his hands were reaching for Aldred and gripping his arm in desperation.

Aldred didn't dare meet his gaze, though he wasn't sure if he even could anymore. Dorian's hands dropped in defeat, and Aldred heard each step Dorian took like a hammer to his heart; clear, painful, throbbing and beating at him even as they vanished and he stood alone. A hand moved to brace him against the desk, his eyes cloudy and wet.


	13. A Letter at Night

Aldred awoke suddenly, the world dark and still around him. The warmth of the sun was gone, and the in its place was a cold chill that made him shrink back and curl the blankets of his bed tighter around him. He did not remember falling asleep, but he was grateful for the emptiness he had found in slumber. The room had the crisp smell of cold air and a dead fire, and Aldred could see beneath the charred black remains a hint of embers that hung on and were waiting to be stirred back to life again.

Shivering, Aldred rose to rekindle its flame and bring back some warmth to the room. He meant to take the blankets with him, but they stuck and held onto the bed and would not come loose until he'd firmly yanked upon them. Bracing himself against the chilliness of the room and moving towards the fireplace he tossed a few new logs in, grimacing when a splinter broke from one and embedded itself in his finger. It stung when he pulled it out, and he sucked on his finger to quell its mild burn as he coaxed the fire back to life. 

It was either very late or very early, the sounds of Skyhold unable to reach him up in his lonely chambers. He glanced back at his bed, noting how it was empty and recoiling at the thought of returning to it alone again. Instead he shuffled his way towards his desk, the candle there lighting at his behest and eating away at its wick pleasantly as he sat down before it. He shuffled the pages that lay on the desk, transcriptions of a diary found in the Emerald Graves that he had completed hours before Dorian had disrupted his reading.

As he shifted them out of the way, his eyes seemed to stutter over several of the final words written. _We are all doomed_.

He exhaled, his breath shaky from the cold and his own swirling thoughts. He felt like he was in a dream, hands drifting around his desk for a fresh leaf of paper and his personal writing utensils. He hunched over his desk, almost unaware of what he was doing as he began to pen a letter to Dorian. Dorian was right. There were things that needed said, and though he could not physically bring the words to his mouth, he could spill them across this paper and tell Dorian the thoughts that tumbled around in his head.

Tell him all the little secrets he kept and cradled close to his heart. All the things that were too hard to say... his hands felt no such struggles. Though his mouth was dry and his tongue curled up and pressed against the roof of his mouth, protesting the admission of all the things he'd never told anyone, his fingers continued to move and leave a swirling rope of ink behind them, letters curving and looping in neat lines along the page. There was so much to say, so much to write, and Aldred was soon grabbing another sheet of paper and then another. 

~*~

Dorian,

First, I must apologize. I know what I asked of you was wrong, and even wronger still to provide no explanation for. I know this will not mend things, and that it will take much more to repair the damage I have caused with my less than tactful request... still, please accept this as an offering of my sincere regret and desire to make things right.

When I was young, a Templar from Kirkwall came to our circle. There had recently been a riot led by several apprentices. I was not involved, but I could not hide my awe at their protests. They were older than me. They had not come into their magic at so young an age as I, and they recalled much more of their lives outside the circle. I was fascinated.

My interest in them garnered its own attention. After the riots were quelled, the apprentices all vanished. They either returned with the Chantry's sunburst adorning their forehead, or never came back at all; perhaps taken to other circles, or perhaps killed. Still, I dwelled on their actions and asked endless questions of my superiors regarding the world outside of our circle. Until, one day I was pulled aside from my studies.

I was near fourteen by then. My heart was stuttering in my chest and I was certain I knew what was coming; my Harrowing. But... I was wrong. I found myself in the solitary areas of isolation, hidden far away from where the apprentices studied and the full-mages lived. There was no one around, naturally, as this was where mages were taken when they were meant to be punished. 

Punished.... No one knew what that meant. Whatever punishments the circle held for us, we were not told of. They were closely guarded secrets. Of course we heard rumors, but most were dismissed as trite nonsense. I was told I was there for a reason. To be broken of my will; to quiet my questions and kill my desires. I did not know what was meant by this. 

Then he was there... the Templar from Kirkwall. He was a giant of a man, and rough and wicked at heart. He hated mages. He hated me. He was my punishment. His hands, hot and calloused, would hold me and bruise me. He would crush me beneath him, my clothes stolen from me. 

Initially I tried to fight him. I thought maybe if I refused to break, he would give up. But then there was the threat; tranquility. He once began the Rite, after I had bit him and drawn blood from his arm. His hand was against my forehead, palm burning there yet the touch was gentler than any he'd ever given me before. I could feel my resolve slipping away, melting like candle wax and the faintest hint of placidity entering my entire self. He stopped, and it was then I realized... it didn't matter if he could not break me in this way, when he could forcefully take my opposition from me at any time, and that I had never been a real threat anyways.

This was all happening simply because he had seen me... and, for whatever reason, decided he needed to break me. And I did break. I gave up. I let it happen again and again. Three years passed, and never did I tell anyone. The other apprentices assumed each time, when I was taken by the Templars, that I was tasked with some special study. The bruises I returned with were expertly hidden, no one ever suspecting a thing.

The threat of tranquility kept me quiet. I did not want to become Tranquil. I kept the hope that if I bore it all, just a little longer, I would one day be strong enough to stop it. But then he left, called away by the Chantry. He never came back.

The worst of all of it is that, when he did not come back, I actually felt remorse. I felt empty. Even as it was unwanted and painful, somehow I had come to believe that this was affection and that I needed it to survive. For a time, I felt as though I was dying with its absence. His absence.

That time has passed, but other memories linger. Strangely, the memories I expect are not the ones that come; perhaps because they cannot. Perhaps because your touch is markedly different than his... perhaps because everything is different. Then there are things that are familiar, and I am surprised by them as much as you are. I wish I could warn you of them... but I would have to know them myself first, and I simply don't.

I won't insult you by saying I do. I'm learning them myself each time they come to me. I wish to explore them and become familiar with my own fears, and, if I could share them with you, I believe it would help. I understand, however, if I am too late in revealing these things to you.

Even if I am too late in my revelations, please understand I am sorry. 

Sincerely, Aldred Trevelyan

~*~

He stared at the letter for a moment before scratching out the last half of his name. He didn't even attempt to reread his own writing, knowing he would likely lose his nerves and tear it to shreds. Instead he folded it neatly and sealed it, lying to himself that it was somehow now indestructible and could not be burned or crumpled or otherwise destroyed. It would be delivered, no matter what.


	14. Traveling Companions

Shortly after ensuring his letter would reach Dorian, he'd been asked to visit the Exalted Plains to scrounge up some much needed resources their forces were lacking. It had been Cullen who had come to make the request, and Aldred had thought that a little unfair of his Inner Circle to do. They knew he was wary of the ex-Templar, and that he struggled to even speak to Cullen.

It seemed Cullen, too, was aware of this, and it also seemed he was just as uncomfortable as Aldred was each time they spoke. There was always some bitten back emotion Cullen held towards him, and Aldred wasn't sure if it was guilt for the life people like Cullen had given Aldred... or perhaps hatred that Aldred, a mage, would be above him now.

Still, Aldred accepted the requisition list and went to prepare for the journey. As he walked around Skyhold, he thought about who he might request accompany him, names turning over in his mind like pawns in his hands as he wandered without any true destination.

Sera was a skillful archer and didn't waste time. But... oh, her complaints... he wasn't up to her snotty remarks about their travels. Even with her sewer slum street child background, she acted as though she were _above_ all of them in her wisdom and knowledge of the “real” world. 

Cassandra was damn near the opposite, taking many opportunities to admit her knowledge was limited in comparison to that of her god's. She thought she was being humble, but really Aldred found her behavior very preachy—it was a struggle for him not to roll his eyes whenever her pep-talks strayed into rants about Andraste and how he was _Andraste's Herald_.

Without any real reason, he'd already crossed them both off the list in his mind. Not this time, he decided.

There was Solas. But... no. Same problem as Sera. While he was less crude about it, Solas too possessed the same demeanor of infinite wisdom and some sort of sense of being better than the others for it. Maybe it was an elf thing....

Varric? No. Laughed too much at Aldred's earnest questions.

Vivienne? Again, no. She was too good at eyeing him reproachfully when he opened his mouth, and answering him like he was a child.

Cole? He didn't really feel up to the way Cole seemed to know his inner thoughts before even he knew them....

The Iron Bull... no. No. He wouldn't make Aldred feel stupid for how easily he was impressed by the world outside of the Circle, but, Bull wasn't exactly a quiet traveling companion. Aldred knew Bull had a way of getting people to tell him their secrets, the things they hid from others, and Aldred was fairly certain he did not want to reveal those things to someone who was openly a _spy_.

Blackwall was a decent candidate; someone who wouldn't pry into his thoughts unless invited. But, Blackwall was not much of a conversationalist period. Aldred wasn't sure if he was up to the stony silence the man provided when they were traveling. Even if he didn't want any sort of real discussion, it would be difficult to travel with someone who primarily responded in grunts and hums of acknowledgment when not asked a direct question.

Aldred found himself standing on the battlements, face to the mountains as soft but bitter winds brushed past his cheeks and made his ears burn. The mountains sung where the wind ran through them, whistling and humming eerie tunes that Aldred couldn't make sense of. He squinted at them, as though somehow he might see some apparition that was the true source of the noise.

Really, all he wanted was Dorian. Sure, he'd crossed off almost every one of his companions on the grounds that they were _too nosy_ , as though Dorian wasn't one of the worst snoopers residing in Skyhold. And then, in entirely contradictory thinking, he'd eliminated Blackwall for not being nosy _enough_.

He leaned forward against the rough walls of the battlements, biting at his lower lip and thinking about Dorian. Had Dorian received his letter yet? Had he read it? What would he say? What would he do? Aldred hadn't considered these things before, and now he was faced with the grim possibility that Dorian wouldn't care.

Maybe even _didn't_ care.

Perhaps he'd shredded the letter himself, or turned it to ash in his own hands. Maybe he'd read it and been disgusted by what Aldred had to share. What if Dorian was mad at him? Mad because it had taken so long for Aldred to tell him something, _anything_ , or mad because Aldred had only managed to do it when he thought he might lose Dorian.

Aldred sighed. He might well have already lost Dorian. Dorian's boots hurrying down the stairs of his chambers was a sound that bounced around in his head; like a high pitched whine in his ear, Aldred heard it but could not give a source to the sound because it was not really there. He kind of hoped it was though, his eyes looking to his side in hopes that perhaps Dorian really was there. 

There was no one, and Aldred realized he'd spent more time staring at the mountains than he'd realized. His legs had become stiff from standing in one place for so long, his fingers stinging to remind him that he wore no gloves at the moment. Stepping back, he rubbed his hands together to inspire some warmth in the flesh again and made his way back towards the main hall. He had to assemble a party. 

Even though he had tried to dismiss the others as nonviable companions, he knew he had no right to choose Dorian as the best candidate. Not after what he'd asked of him. He worked his way back to the main hall, still rifling through his prospective traveling companions and struggling to find a conclusion before he returned.


	15. Storytelling

He wasn't sure what he was thinking really when he'd had Leliana send missives to Sera, Varric, and Bull. If he'd been hoping for a peaceful outing, it was the worst possible group ever. But, he hadn't. He hadn't been looking for peace and quiet; he'd been looking for a distraction, and the three were certainly able to provide him with one.

They were a raucous group, often sharing tall tales and lewd jokes as they traveled. They quarreled and competed at telling tall tales, Aldred quietly listening and half smiling at times. Frequently, though, he found that he could not follow some of their conversations. Things went beyond his knowledge and into realms he'd never explored. They discussed their feelings openly, sharing memories both good and bad with each other.

Aldred wanted to participate, but that would've required having good memories to offset the bad ones. He stayed quiet and observed them, listening to how natural they sounded as they chatted.

Eventually Varric had taken to reciting a story to them while they traveled, Bull laughing in all the wrong places and Sera groaning loudly in disgust at some parts but never telling Varric to stop. Aldred remembered Dorian mocking him for thinking it a waste to hear non-educational stories. He was embarrassed to admit that he'd become rather enraptured by Varric's tale, even when he didn't always understand what it was about.

Feelings. There were so many feelings in Varric's story. Aldred wondered what it would be like to experience them all. Perhaps, before this was all over, he would know.

“That is _not_ how you do it,” Sera protested as Varric was coming to an area in his story that was more risque than Aldred knew how to handle. He'd honestly been slipping into memories of Dorian, imagining the things Varric spoke of but between himself and the sarcastic mage.

“Listen, I have been with a fair amount of women-”

“Obviously, since they kept leavin' because you're shite at foreplay,” Sera interrupted. “And garbage at dirty talk,” she added if only to insult Varric further.

“I don't believe this... oh _please_ tell me how _you_ would do it then, if I'm so wrong,” Varric challenged, Aldred's thoughts turning to how his hips were sore from riding and how their bickering had interrupted the thing that had been distracting him best.

“First of all, if the action is becomin' 'frantic' it sucks. It shouldn't be getting more 'frantic'. She moans, you change nothing. She can't stop sayin' your name? Again, change _nothing_. The only 'frantic' thing should be how she's screaming by then. If she's doin' any of that, then the stupidest thing you could possibly do would be t' change tactics.”

Aldred wasn't sure how much weight could or should have been given to Sera's lecture, but Bull was humming and nodding in agreement. They were a vulgar group, he thought, all of them talking so freely about such things. Aldred's face was never this warm in Skyhold. Sera carried on, giving several more examples of how she would _personally_ satisfy a woman. 

Some of it sounded like it could be useful on a partner of any gender, but a good deal of it meant nothing to Aldred and the conversation was never able to veer in the direction of his own preference. Sera saw to that, actively dismissing any discussion of what a man might enjoy or want during intimate moments.

Varric was getting a little more testy and defensive as they argued, Sera clearly goading him on and Bull laughing heartily at the two. Aldred's expression was a half involved smile, just enough to show others he was “participating” and not draw attention to himself. Or, at least that's what he thought until Varric had twisted half round in his saddle to address him.

“What about you, Trevelyan?” he asked directly. “How would _you_ satisfy a woman?”

Aldred's smile faded abruptly, his eyes shifting away quickly and his brows furrowing. “I would have to admit that I'm not very familiar with them,” he said after a moment, Sera laughing loudly.

“More attuned to the less fair sex?” Bull asked, Aldred looking at him in mortified horror. 

“N-not in particular,” he said hastily in reply. “I just... in Ostwick....” He said it like it was a question, like he was offering it up as some excuse but wasn't quite sure if it was a valid one. It apparently was, Varric spotting some animal ahead and launching into a retelling of some legend involving it and Sera and Bull giving identical murmurs of interest in the tale. He was grateful for it, and grateful that the three had known to quit then and let him have his privacy.

He hardly heard Varric's story now, thoughts wandering back to Skyhold and Dorian. Thoughts about Dorian spoiling him, caring for him... thoughts about how he'd hurt Dorian so many times, and how Dorian had given him chance after chance. He wanted to return to Skyhold already, even though it had not even been three days since they'd departed. He wanted to go back to Dorian and apologize in person.

Dorian, being the imp that he was though, would likely ask him to expound upon his apologies. Aldred didn't know if he could do that yet. _I'm sorry, Dorian_. His head kept repeating those words, dancing them around inside his skull until they were their own little jaunty ditty that kept time with the movements of his horse.

When they finally stopped and broke camp, Aldred's mind had wandered through many daydreams and scenarios that ended pleasantly; even when his envisioned self said the wrong thing, made the wrong move, Dorian always understood and he didn't have to explain himself or make it right. Daydream Dorian knew why things were difficult. Real Dorian did not, and that was an unfortunate error on Aldred's part.

Even though they had stopped moving for the time being, Aldred's companions did not cease their wild stories. Sitting around the campfire and eating as they talked, Aldred found his heart was beginning to ache a bit at all the things they had to share, their vast experiences starting to feel like an endless pit that would kill him if he tried to join in. He retired to his tent early in the evening, blocking out their continued laughs and raucous behavior. 

It was good for them. The world was at war around them and they needed the escape. Aldred was glad for their ability to distract themselves, and glad that they had so far thoroughly distracted him as well. He was grateful for their companionship.

However, alone in his tent, his thoughts returned too easily to Dorian. The threat of being a hunted mage had been momentarily unseated, replaced by the considerably worse idea of losing Dorian. He stared at the fabric of his tent until it lost all color, the sun sinking in the sky until the world around him was nothing but the black of ink spilled on parchment.


	16. Nug Love

He woke slowly, the sturdy presence of something warm wrapped in his arms. Eyes still shut he held the figure close and tried to go back to sleep, convinced that during the night Dorian had arrived and crept into his tent to be with him. A light snuffling sound and what felt like thin wires brushing over his face made him open his eyes at last, and he couldn't help but bellow in alarm as he found himself face to face with a very fat nug.

Scrambling back from it, he crashed into the fabric of his tent and its poles buckled from the strain. It fell apart around him, Aldred thrashing at the collapsed tent and trying to escape its confines. The nug found its way to freedom first, bounding through the campsite and past Aldred's companions just as Aldred was dragging himself free of the tent and kicking the thick material away. He stayed laying in the dirt, the abrupt awakening doing him no good as he tried to put the world back in order in his head. 

The Iron Bull was the one who yanked him up from the ground, brushing the dirt off him and setting him on his feet like he was a fallen child. “Good morning, Inquisitor,” Bull rumbled in greeting, as though Aldred had only just emerged from his tent in a typical way and _not_ crawling on his belly with a terrified nug ahead of him.

Aldred found himself using Bull's chest to steady himself, the Qunari's flesh unusually warm as though he had a forge burning inside of him.

“Ah... so it's neither the fair nor unfair sex then, is it?” Sera remarked, Varric's lips quirking up in response as she teased the Inquisitor.

Aldred gave her a blank look, not fully awake enough to understand her comments yet still finding himself blushing in response. He pulled his hand from Bull, adjusting his clothing and fixing the straps on his boots. He'd fallen asleep dressed and he could only wonder how many imprints of buckles adorned his cheeks. “My apologies if my shouting woke any of you,” he said dully, though it was clear the three had been awake much longer than he.

“Don't sweat it,” Varric said, approaching him with a bowl in hand. It was filled with something hot and rich smelling, Aldred accepting it and finding a place to sit among the others.

He was hungrier than he realized, shoveling food into his mouth even when he couldn't quite identify what it was. There was a graininess to it, an occasional clump that could have been a root of some sort finding its way between his teeth. It was satisfying enough, filling Aldred's stomach comfortably and not offending his taste-buds any more than anything else he'd come to eat since leaving the Circle of Ostwick.

Bull and Sera put his tent back in order as he ate, several scouts having shown up to their campsite as they slept and turning it into a right proper Inquisition camp. The rest of the day blurred together for Aldred, his thoughts quieting as he fell into performing his role as Inquisitor and meeting the needs of those around him. This ability felt as though it had escaped him for a long while, but now it was coming back to him.

Be a puppet. Move and dance and speak as is needed, put on the little play the world needed to feel safe again. Say what the others want to hear, and never let there be a waver in the words. He slipped comfortably into pretending he knew more of the world than was true, no longer the isolated and inexperienced mage loosed upon the world but rather the calculating and humble man who only wished to help others. 

He quelled the thoughts that cried out for someone to help him in return, shoving them down and perfecting the image of the rational figurehead he was supposed to be.

By the end of the day his left hand was throbbing, having used the anchor to seal a rift and fight back the fade spawn that had welled forth from it, and his right hand was equally as sore from wielding his staff against all manner of creatures. He'd found himself a seat by the fire, tuning out the conversations around him and staring into its light as he reflected on the day.

They'd only traveled out here to fill some of the more urgent needs of the Inquisition, but everywhere they looked were people who needed help. Aldred wasn't sure if it was the facade he put on that made him rush to assist where he could, or if it was genuinely part of who he was. If it bothered the others, they didn't say anything. He did feel some of his desire to rush to the aid of others was a sort of penance, done only to offset the lives ended at his hand. 

When they'd discussed war in the circle, it had always been about fighting battles for the Templars, following orders and being good little war dogs. There was a strong accent on how their own lives did not matter and that they had to be willing to die for the Chantry when it was asked of them.

Aldred, like so many others, had swallowed back bitter responses and simply prayed that day would never come.

He hadn't realized how hard he'd been clenching his fists, his fingers now stiff as he stretched them out before the fire and shook his head to shake the thoughts of the circle free from his mind. He didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think at all, really.


	17. Experiences

Returning to Skyhold was a positive experience for those that traveled with them, each connected to something or someone within its walls that threaded them through with excitement and made them all the more eager to return. Aldred guessed it was the Chargers for Bull, and perhaps a quiet moment to write for Varric. He wasn't sure what it was for Sera, but he was fairly certain it was best he didn't know. It was probably something Cassandra would complain about later.

As for Aldred, returning to Skyhold filled him with little more than apprehension. He tried to pin it all on Corypheus, the rifts scattered across Thedas, the precarious situation of the Empire itself... tried to spread it out evenly across the unmet needs of others, leaving none of it to give towards his own situation and specifically the matter of Dorian.

Ultimately, he failed. Even as there were endless things for him to blame his apprehension on, he still found there was enough worry squirreled away for him to think about Dorian and fret over seeing him. Or, maybe, _not_ seeing him. There was a real enough chance that Dorian wouldn't want to see him any more. Maybe he had wasted the opportunities given to him. Perhaps it was time to stop worrying at one experience he might have with Dorian and instead take advantage of the other experiences around him, while he still could.

The other experiences. Nothing really came to mind. What other experiences were there? Dorian was a world of experiences already. Did Aldred really need more than that? Did he even need _that_? No. But he wanted it. He wanted Dorian.

He felt himself longing for the lilt of Dorian's voice, teasing and assuring all at once, riddled with clear condescension towards the things he disapproved of and almost lewd in tone for the things he _did_ approve of. Not only that, but for Dorian's confidence. To see him strut across a room, to take control not by disruptive force but by elegant distraction—he wasn't the solid and resounding shot of a cannon, but the curious patch of sunlight that elicited calmness and some sense of divine understanding. 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra beckoned, her voice bearing its usual harsh insistence. Aldred had barely even found his way to the stables before she had located him, and in his thoughts he had been absently sitting atop his mount without any intention to ever dismount. 

“Lady Seeker,” he returned, though not without stumbling over the title a bit. He bore no grace when he swung himself out of the saddle of his horse, his foot hooking in the stirrup and taking some work to free. He was lucky not to have fallen on his face before her or the others around the stables. 

She quirked an eyebrow at this, but said nothing of it. “Inquisitor, while you've been away we have received word regarding the Empress. It's of importance that you join us for consultation in the war room.”

“The Empress?” Aldred echoed, trying to drag forth a name from his mind but feeling nothing but the name “Dorian” rattle about in his thoughts.

“Yes. I understand you are tired and travel-worn, and I will ensure a hot bath is available to you in your chambers after this is done,” she promised, and Aldred had to nod at how nice that sounded.


	18. Vile Memories, Worse Requests

The bath had been nice, but Aldred hadn't lingered too long in it. All the grime from his travels had muddied the water and made it unappealing, and he'd focused on simply getting the grit out of his hair and getting himself to some sort of state of presentability. He hadn't seen Dorian when he'd returned to Skyhold, nor seen him milling about in the main hall, and he hadn't realized until now just how much he was planning to go find the man himself. There was a small hollow place in his stomach where he feared that Dorian had moved on and was not looking for his return. 

But, Aldred was desperate to see him. To talk to him. That letter he'd sent before he left... he had to know Dorian's thoughts on what Aldred had at last offered up to him. He hoped that somehow the things he'd revealed would help Dorian understand and mend some of the damage he'd done. He winced at a memory of the insults he'd thrown so carelessly at Dorian the last time he'd seen him.

It was getting colder in Skyhold, Aldred's favored ceremonial wear no longer thick enough to guard him against the sharp winds that sometimes raced through the hold. He selected heavier clothing, a brown leather jerkin hiding beneath a thick white coat and matching gloves cresting up to his elbows. It was a little gaudy for his taste, but it was warm and it didn't feature the stains and tears of travel that his other garb did. Also, he wasn't sure how much it would be appreciated for him to wander Skyhold in his armor looking battle ready; there were Templars within its walls, and he really didn't feel up to threatening them by accident and being threatened by them in return.

He fussed a little longer with his hair and then observed his jaw closely in the mirror, seeing that all the stubble there from his days away had been cut away to leave his skin smooth. He wasn't sure why this was so important; it wasn't as though he'd never met Dorian before. There was no first impression to be made. Then again, he did have the hope that whatever might happen would be something akin to starting over. To forgetting the harsh words he'd spoken and going back to a place where maybe he could just make Dorian happy and even be happy himself. Just for a little while.

“How long are you planning to hide this time?”

Dorian's voice didn't startle Aldred as much as it should have, and maybe that was because Aldred had been inventing little thoughts of fancy where this was exactly what would happen. That Dorian would find him first. He turned from the mirror and felt his breath hitch a bit as he looked at Dorian standing there, solid and present in his room though he hovered near the stairs. Too close. Too close to departure. Aldred found himself moving without thought, long strides moving him across the room to stand before Dorian.

Close to him, Aldred's daydreams meant nothing. The physical realness of Dorian was something else, and Aldred was drawn to touch him and observe every aspect of Dorian as it was presented to him now. He practically lunged for the man, arms trapping him and pulling him close while Dorian emitted some sort of confused protest. 

“Dorian!” Aldred exclaimed, unable to contain the giddiness that wished to bubble its way up from his stomach. Dorian's presence meant something. Meant that he wasn't done with Aldred entirely yet. At least, not enough to never see Aldred again. 

Dorian wriggled free from Aldred's grip, brows dipping low as he struggled with whatever it was he had to say. Aldred found himself suddenly mirroring Dorian's expression, and realized with too much delay that he should not have grabbed at Dorian like that.

“Inquisitor...”

Aldred felt his stomach drop at the title said here. Dorian only ever referred to him by that when they were in the field, and hearing Dorian say it now, in his private chambers, resonated with Aldred unpleasantly. He felt his face become still and stony, adjusting to the mask he wore when he told everyone that everything would be alright, only this time he was the only audience to hear it.

Dorian didn't miss that look, and he didn't hide how his own face softened in response. “Forgive me...” he began, Aldred beginning to feel like a coil wound too tight as he strained to make out some sense of meaning in Dorian's posture and words. “I... no, I can't.”

The words were sharp and cut at Aldred's senses, even as he did not understand them. “I understand,” he said regardless, lying through his teeth. “You may take your leave.”

Dorian fixed him with a sharp glare then, his cheek twitching with some bitten back remark before he sighed loudly. “Evidently you don't,” he replied, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I meant I can't be delicate about this. Look, I am not a quiet man by nature. I don't like silence. I don't like to suffer in it, I don't like to feign things are alright when they're not, and I don't like to leave things in messy, unsorted states to dwell upon by myself. And, I get the feeling that you don't either—no, I _know_ you don't—but that you can't help it as the remnant it is of your past.”

Aldred tilted his head a tad at the words, starling a bit when his neck cracked from the stretching. Dorian didn't comment on it, if he did notice it. 

“Inqui-Aldred,” Dorian said, unable to call Aldred by his title a second time. There was some relief in his voice to just say Aldred's name instead. “We have too many things to address tonight, even as I am willing to spend all night with you chatting like children in the dark. And I know that you can't handle all of it anyways—that there is too much to go over in a single night, and too much that you are not ready to discuss. But, still, I'm not going to lie to you and tell you I'm here to forgive you and shove the blame on you. Because, it isn't on you. Not solely anyways.”

Aldred shifted on his feet, eyes flicking between the stairs and Dorian, apprehension still swirling in his chest. Dorian wasn't leaving, but his nearness to what registered as departure in Aldred's head was still disconcerting. Something unwound a little in him when Dorian stepped close again, some breath he didn't know he was holding releasing itself finally.

“I... I'm _mad_ Aldred,” Dorian said. “I'm mad—no, _furious_ —at how things are right now. I know you don't appreciate my opinions on your mage circles, and I'll spare them from you for now, but I need you to know that I won't stop being upset any time soon by what you told me. Upset with myself, and also upset with you for withholding something so... so _vile_. For allowing me to touch you, and tease you... and... heavens I am making no sense!” 

Aldred's mouth felt dry and cottony, his eyes watching Dorian and his ears hearing the words but agreeing that they did not make much sense right now. He knew Dorian was driving at some point, but he wasn't sure what point that was. Was this a goodbye? Or something else? He couldn't tell, and he wanted the clarity. He wanted there to stop being this confusion between them, this invisible barrier that they kept running into because neither was really certain if they were still wanted by the other.

“Dorian,” Aldred said thickly. He wasn't sure what else he might say, but at least for a moment Dorian stopped talking. “Dorian, I know you think the past is important. I know you want to know mine. And I'll give it to you, as much as I can, but only if there is a reason for it.”

Dorian had at some point begun pacing a short space of his room, his boots grazing over a thick rug and the buzz of that slight friction still reaching Aldred somehow. He stopped now, turning towards Aldred and looking at him in a manner that was slightly off-putting. “What sort of reason?” he asked.

“I think you know what sort,” Aldred answered, but still he continued. “I'm not going to try and dig into these memories that hurt me and sometimes frighten me for someone who isn't... Dorian.” That wasn't what he meant to say, and Dorian knew it.

“Isn't 'Dorian'?” he repeated back, some sort of exhaled laugh escaping him. “Can you elaborate?”

Aldred's cheeks flamed a little in embarrassment and he set his jaw, trying to bring grand words to his head that would fix this just like he did for the people of Skyhold. “I meant I don't want to share those things with someone who doesn't mean more to me. I don't want to say the others here mean nothing to me, but I'd be lying to say they meant as much as... as you.”

Aldred shuddered through an inhale, wanting to swallow down the words that the rest of him insisted be said.

“Dorian, if you're here to tell me, at the end of all this, goodbye... then just leave now. I can't open up all my old wounds and make them fresh again just for you to leave after, leaving me injured and alone.”

Dorian had been watching him with eyes like glass planes, flat and fixed with no hint of emotion, but his gaze seemed to shatter at Aldred's words. He bridged the distance between them so quickly that Aldred almost thought he'd teleported, his hands gripping Aldred's arms with a desperation similar to how Aldred had grabbed him earlier. 

“ _Amatus_...” he hissed through clenched teeth, his head dipping forward against Aldred's chest and settling there heavily.

Aldred couldn't help it, having Dorian there. His lips brushed through Dorian's hair, nose picking up scents of Vandal Aria threaded through his locks and appreciating its smell.

“I think, sometimes, I might hate myself. Just a little. Not enough to ever eclipse the pride I wear... just enough to make myself miserable on occasion,” Dorian muttered. “And right now it is only because of the shame I feel in knowing that I should have been more patient... I should have waited....”

“Dorian...” Aldred started.

“No. No, don't comfort me. Just listen,” Dorian said firmly, even has his head was still tucked beneath Aldred's. “I'm sorry for how I preyed upon you, and how I've pushed you and rushed you even though you gave signs that you... weren't ready. Even our first night. Even then, you clumsily going through the motions. You weren't there, and you and I both know that. And now I feel the memory is tainted... and I am disgusted with myself. But, even worse is how... I don't think I can stop. I can't let you go now, Aldred.”

Aldred brought his arms around Dorian, wrapping him in a hug that was for his own sake as much as Dorian's. “Then don't... at least, not for now...” Aldred spoke. Impossible... impossible that he could have his way like this, Dorian here in his arms even after the cruel words they had exchanged.

“No,” Dorian disagreed sharply, pushing away from Aldred and glaring into his eyes. “Not for 'now'. _Always_ , Aldred. _Forever_.”

“You don't believe in that sort of thing...” Aldred reminded him, Dorian scoffing.

“I didn't want to,” Dorian admitted unhappily. “But, here we are.”

Aldred sighed, turning from Dorian and moving to sit on the bed. How often it had become a place for them to meet in discussion. Something about it made Aldred feel they were on equal ground. It wasn't just a place to sleep... it was a place to talk, and laugh, and love.... 

“I... Dorian, I want that... more than anything, I swear, but...” he began, unable to ignore the look that passed over Dorian's face at that little word... that little hint of condition. “I... what if we can't?”

The bed creaked as Dorian sat beside him, hands reaching grasp Aldred's and squeeze them. “You mean if the Templars come for you, and the circles are reestablished?” he clarified, Aldred nodding. “Then I'll simply have to kill them.

Aldred shook his head, a thin smile passing over his lips at Dorian's solution. “No... that won't work, Dorian.”

“And you think your alternative will?”

Aldred nodded. As tactless as a request as it had been, Aldred still found himself aching for that guarantee... he could see no other solution that provided such certainty for him. It wouldn't matter what happened after the Inquisition then. Ostwick would forever be a memory, and the laws of Tevinter would protect him. 

“Please, Dorian,” he whispered, slipping from the bed and shifting onto his knees before Dorian. 

He brought Dorian's hands to his lips, kissing them as though he greeted a king. If Dorian would only agree, than it would be as such... Dorian, his master.

“Please... make me a slave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I'm excited to get to part 2!
> 
> I'm unsure of the release date, but it is tentatively set for January 1st. Reason being that my laptop charger broke and I was just lucky enough to have already uploaded this entire work before that happened!
> 
> My apologies to anyone who thought they would be getting smut out of BC, MH part 1--I really wanted it to, but it legit never seemed to feel right for the characters at the time. Guess we will all just have to be as patient as Dorian is trying to be!


End file.
